


Another Fine Mess

by ninetiesnecklace



Category: Being Human (UK), The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Gods vs Vampires, Illustrated, M/M, Mention of Mental Illness, Mitchell is an addict, Sexual Content, Slow Build, anders has family issues, fang kink, some instances of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-10 00:27:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 126,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2003817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninetiesnecklace/pseuds/ninetiesnecklace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vampires and gods inhabit different societies until the vampires fear the god's superiority and decide to kill Odin. Mitchell and Ivan are set on the task in Bristol where they cross paths with Anders. They mistake him for Odin and one by one Mitchell develops an addiction to Anders' blood, causing trouble  on both sides.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place before Mitchell meets George and Annie and after 3x02 of The Almighty Johnsons.
> 
> Happy ending is not yet certain since it's a work in progress. This can go either way but neither Anders nor Mitchell will die.

The two men stood in the shadow of the old house and observed the empty street that ended in a faintly lit car park. The place was devoid of people and only two vehicles were parked there. This time of night, the scenery was eerily quiet despite a main road running parallel. The wet pavement was dimly reflecting the little light shed by the street lamps.

“There he is,“ Mitchell said and nodded across the street. A man with a briefcase came into view, heading to the parking lot. Mitchell was leaning on the wall, one boot propped up against it, crossed arms. A casual posture to fool anyone who might walk by and cast a quick look at him. But it was his hands that gave him away. Clothed in black gloves with the top cut off his fingers were drumming a rapid pattern on his upper arm. This was not your run-of-the-mill hunt.

“Are you sure?” asked a distinguished voice next to him. “He does look a little… unimpressive to be a god.”

Mitchell turned to his fellow hunter. “Appearances deceive, Ivan.”

The two of them were a good example for that: Ivan was dressed in a dark grey suit which was perfectly tailored to his tall statue. Short hair and his beard of a slightly ginger colour gave him the vibe of a smart but relentless business man. Next to him, Mitchell looked like he had just stumbled out of a student pub. Appearing to be somewhere in his mid-20s, he preferred skinny jeans, checked shirts and a black jacket. His dark hair curled down to his chin as he refused to cut it. The two men seemed an unlikely match but most of the great vampire stories of the last decade had been their doing.

“Besides,” Mitchell added, “now is hardly the time for a change of plans.”

Ivan shrugged, indifferent, and waited for the other to give the signal. This was not about hunger. Mitchell had made sure that they both had fed enough to be calm but not entirely sated. They needed a steady hand, so to speak, but also the incentive to properly finish their hunt. It wasn’t recruitment, either. No, what he and Ivan were to do tonight qualified as an assassination.

A vicious grin bloomed on Mitchell’s face. On any other guy this kind of smile would have been attractive and interesting – on Mitchell’s lips, however, it acquired an additional deadly edge. “Look at him, all relaxed.”

The man they were searching out was indeed unaware of the predators that stalked him on this chilly night. He was casually approaching his car, briefcase in hand and keys ready.

“Now,“ Mitchell growled and Ivan nodded. One last adjustment to his impeccable suit and Mitchell watched him leaving their vantage point. Confident steps echoed through the air as Ivan approached the man who had his back turned to him now, apparently placing his briefcase in the boot of the car.

“Excuse me, sir”, he addressed him in a concerned voice, “is that your car? I think I saw someone mess with it just a moment ago.”

The man, dressed in a suit cut as sharply as Ivan’s, closed the boot and looked up to him. “Yes, it’s mine. Mess with it how?”

Mitchell watched how Ivan drew the man in and his drumming fingers became calm. He took a deep breath and in a split second his formerly brown-greenish eyes turned entirely black, iris and sclera alike. His tongue slid over his now bared fangs in anticipation. The guy would not know what hit him, god or no god. He and Ivan had perfected their timing, schemes and signals over many a year and Mitchell trusted him with his life. Well, he would, if he were still alive.

“If you come around this side and take a look at the front wheel…” Ivan’s voice trailed away as he guided the shorter man to the right side of the car. Now it was Mitchell’s time to act. With silent steps he moved closer while Ivan kept their target occupied.

“Now, it looks to me as if the tyre has been slashed…” As Mitchell was only a few strides away, Ivan stopped in his monologue. A quick and strong blow to the solar plexus made the shorter man bent over before he even processed what was going on. Before he could collapse to the ground, Ivan’s hands reached under his arms and grabbed his shoulders from behind, exposing his entire body to Mitchell who faced them, all vamped out. He gave himself a moment to relish the sight in front of him. After all, Ivan’s punches were not something you recover from in a matter of seconds as he had experienced first hand.

Ivan was casually choking the god in his arms – enough to make him gasp for breath, not enough to hurt his throat permanently.

“So”, Mitchell tilted his head to one side and let his eyes wander over the compact statue of the man, “you are the threat of our age.”

He considered his words, shrugged and added “Well, of this age, I should say. You see, we’ve been around a lot longer than the likes of you. We have a society which is intact and does not consist of random godly incarnations scattered across the country.”

His expression turned into something akin to apologetic with his voice acquiring a smoother tone. “We can’t allow you to take the short cut. You understand that, don’t you?”

Excitement washed over Mitchell which turned almost sexual when he saw the look on the god’s face. The bastard still could not muster enough breath to utter as much as a huff. His eyes spoke instead of his mouth: the blue colour of the iris barely recognizable because of his overly-dilated pupils. He was terrified. _Good_. A barely audible groan escaped his throat and Ivan shot Mitchell a look to act now. The only warning Mitchell gave was a hiss before he lunged at the god. His instincts kicked in and in this moment, Mitchell was Death. He grabbed what he could of the god’s blonde hair, pulled his head to the side and trailed his tongue over the hectically beating main artery.

He planned to enjoy this. Blondie here was entirely at his mercy and the feeling of power filled Mitchell’s whole being. He could hear the breath that stuck in his prey’s throat, felt the beating of life under his tongue and tasted the fear he awoke in him. There was no way he would ever give up on this superiority. Especially, if the threat to it consisted of someone as stricken as the man – god? – he pressed against.

Then, without much ado, Mitchell dug his canines into the god’s neck. He could feel the skin break just like a normal human being’s would. He bit down further, enjoying the moment of primal anticipation before he could taste the first drop. Mitchell, half-hard from the thrill, ground into the god’s body as he lapped at the first gush of blood his fangs drew.

Something was different. Mitchell could taste the salty iron of which a human’s blood was constituted but there was something else. Something dark. By the second mouthful he felt like his throat was being cut from the inside, a burning sensation which spread quickly throughout his whole body and made him weak and strong at the same time. Mitchell let out a confused groan, unsure whether to continue drinking or not. His body decided for him: violently, he drew away from the god’s throat. Blood stained his gloves and Mitchell stumbled back as far as he could with his knees limp, struggling to keep upright.

“What is wrong?” Ivan demanded in a harsh voice, his attention focused on Mitchell for a second. The god used this distraction and managed to kick Ivan hard enough for him to loosen the grip on his neck. Mitchell witnessed this through a grey haze in which he could barely distinguish between Ivan and his former victim. His head felt twice the size and he wanted to tear at his skin; though he could not move. The one thing he could see was how the blotch that represented Ivan seemed to be in a trance while the smaller man earnestly talked to him. Then, darkness won over Mitchell’s conscience and he collapsed on the cold wet tarmac.

 

*****

 

Anders ran. He ran until his sides hurt and then he ran a little faster. Bragi got him a good head-start when he took his chance and told the one vampire to stay in this place for the night. But how would he know how effective Bragi was on vampires? And what if the other one recovered quickly? Anders would not take a chance and before returning to his apartment he made damn sure that he was not followed by them or any of their bloody kind.

Anders finally arrived, let himself in, immediately bolted the door and gasped for breath. Again. This seemed to be a recurring motif of this night, he thought darkly and raided his kitchen. What was effective against vampires? Garlic? Salt? Silver crosses? He knew he should’ve paid more attention when Olaf told his oracle tales. With his heart still pumping at an unhealthy rate Anders grabbed everything he figured could be an obstacle to vampires – even if they only stumbled over it. He broke one of his wooden chairs and sharpened the edges of the legs to make four stakes, poured himself a generous amount of vodka and finally sat down on his couch. Two shots later he was as calm as he could be considering the circumstances. The fear he felt subsided and his muscles started to relax a bit. Still, he could feel the grip of a cold hand around his neck. Unconsciously, he rubbed his throat. His hands came back bloody.

 

“Shit,” he murmured as he remembered his injury – his escape had been of a more pressing nature. Anders made his way to the bathroom, not without picking up the stake beforehand, and looked in the mirror. Not only his throat but also his shirt was stained with blood. He found a cloth to clean the wound and winced at the contact it made with his torn skin. Taking a good look at the marks the vampire had left on his throat Anders decided that it didn’t appear too bad, luckily. It seemed like he had not bitten deep enough to permanently damage his jugular. Clumsily, Anders patched up the spot as good as he could, threw his shirt in the laundry basket and returned to his living room.

Vampires. In disbelief, he shook his head. Of course he knew they existed. How could he not. But vampires and gods lived if not in harmony at least in a state of indifference. Each stuck to their ways and they hardly ever crossed paths. Why would they? They didn’t share one thing and wouldn’t compete for another.

Obviously, this has changed. Anders sighed heavily. What did the one of them say? Something about gods being a threat to vampires. That just didn’t make sense. No one wanted to take over the world or some such absurd thing. As far as Anders was concerned, he could well do without any megalomania on either side of the apparent feud. He had enough on his hands as it was and really just wanted to be left alone. By pretty much everyone. To his family he was the bad guy of the hour, the one responsible for all of their fuck-ups. As if they were the type for a white picket fence if it wasn’t for them. He chuckled without any humour. Ridiculous.

But then again, vampires were out to hunt them down and Anders had been the one to draw the shortest match. He couldn’t just sit back and wait until the other Johnsons were attacked too. He took another swig of his vodka, picked up his phone and went through his contacts. Who exactly was he supposed to tell, though? Mike was out of the question as was Axl. Ever since he tried to kill Anders their relationship was somewhat distant, to put it mildly. Only because Bragi couldn’t keep it in his pants when around Idunn and Axl was too fucking stubborn to understand that neither of them could do anything about it.

Eventually, Anders dialed Ty’s number. He was the only one Anders felt relatively comfortable talking to and knew he wouldn’t dismiss his call.

“Ty! How’s the fridge business?” He aimed to give his voice a cheerful expression and somewhat succeeded. You’re not the god of bullshitting without picking up a couple of tricks along the way.

“Great, I just got a new delivery today. There’s a minibar among it in which I could easily lock you.”

“Charming as ever.”

“You’re one to talk, God of Poetry.”

“Well, you clearly lack my talent.”

“Anders, you didn’t call to ask me that, did you?“ Ty answered and Anders could pretty much hear his brother’s raised eyebrow.

“Let’s just say it’s not the only reason. Ran into any vampires lately?”

“Vampires?” Ty sounded incredulous and Anders relaxed a bit. Having his brother react like he thought he would gave him a sense of normality he desperately clung to.

“Yeah, you know the type. Fangs, blood thirsty, hissing and shit.”

“What? No, not lately, not ever. Why? Did you?”

“Uh.. yeah. Sorta.”

“Are you okay?” Ty sounded genuinely worried and Anders envisioned him with one hand already grabbing his jacket to come and pay him a visit.

“Yeah, fine. You know I’m into kinky stuff. Just… watch out for yourself, will you? And tell the others.”

“Anders, what happened? You sound weird. Don’t you dare hang up, I’ll be around faster than you can crack an ice-man joke!”

Anders made a face. Ty as he lived and breathed.

“I was attacked by two vampires. One tried to bite me but I could throw them off track with Bragi. That’s all.”

“Fuck. Did you tell Mike?”

“Are you shitting me? Of course not. All I’m doing here is giving you a fair warning and I’ll be out of your way again.”

“Anders, this whole thing will blow over. Axl is just…”

“Let it go, Ty. Take care.”

Anders ended the call and stared at his phone. The part of him that had been filled with fear was now entirely consumed by confusion. That whole thing didn’t make any sense. Not one fucking bit. He resisted the urge to fill up on booze and before his mind could replay the scene from earlier he selected Olaf’s number. Maybe the family oracle was helpful for once in his obscenely long lifetime and could point Anders in the right direction. After ten long rings, Olaf’s voice answered.

“Anders! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Grandpa, you seem a little too sober, considering the time.” Anders was relieved that he didn’t have to sift through Olaf’s stoned ramblings.

“What can I say, we’re taking it easy for a change.”

“Right. Listen, what can you tell me about vampires?”

“Vampires?” Olaf’s voice sounded astonished. “Well… According to the old tales they’ve been around for thousands of years. They usually built a society within society, allowing them to feed on humans without having to face consequences.”

He stopped and Anders waited patiently. He knew Olaf’s style and that it took him a while to get to the important bits. “Infiltration and corruption are their specialties. Even though it seems that they stick together, they usually look out for themselves and try to get the best end of any deal.”

“But what about their overall story? Any world-domination fantasies?”

“Oh yeah, heaps. Never gotten around to carrying them out, though.”

“What about enemies?”

“Vampires mostly quarrel with werewolves. The reason for that is long forgotten though, they just keep going.”

“And a stake is the right weapon?”

“Yes. A wooden stake to the heart does them in. Garlic is bloody useless, though. Why do you ask?”

Anders hesitated for a second. “No reason. Just… interested.”

With Olaf, he didn’t need to come up with a convincing reason, luckily. “Any street fights with gods that you know of?”

“With gods? I don’t think so. We inhabit entirely different spheres, we strive for different things and present no threat to each other.”

“Of course not. But hey, in theory: would they be interested in drinking a god’s blood? For kicks or something?”

As he asked this question Anders fought back the mental images which tried to claw their way to his memory.

“I don’t know. I don’t think that there has ever been such an occurrence. Are you okay?” Olaf’s voice took on a slightly concerned tone.

“Yeah, peachy. Now go back to Stacy, I can hear her complaining in the background.”

With this, Anders hung up and threw his phone on one of the sofa cushions. At least this call hadn’t been entirely useless.

Anders downed another shot of vodka and slammed the glass on the table so hard that the bottom cracked. He sharply inhaled as one of the smaller shards wound up in his hand and tiny drop of blood formed on his palm. Anders stared at it, suddenly stupefied.

The guy had _drunk_ from him. He had bitten his throat, torn a vein and swallowed his blood. Actual, no-bullshit Dracula style.

A violent shiver ran through Anders. His wound was throbbing with a dull pain and despite the patches he still felt the sensation of the vampire’s chilly tongue licking at his jugular. It had been a gesture of superiority but it also had a intimite quality to it. Disgustingly intimate. Instead of just ripping out his throat the vampire had taken his time and nearly caressed him before biting down. Anders had been in many compromising situations over the years but this was different. This was personal. In the back of his mind Anders remembered how the vampire pushed his body onto his own and how… oh, no. Really? A hard-on? A vampiric boner? For an absurd moment, Anders reflected whether vampires could actually get an erection, with being undead and all. A nearly insane laugh escaped him.

Sure, pain and pleasure weren’t too far apart and he knew that very well.

But this was just sick. Utterly fucking sick. Anders had the sudden urge to burn his clothes, bleach his brain and scrub his skin until every pore was clean. He got up, swayed and had to admit to himself that he was already too drunk to properly have a shower. Anders let himself fall back on the sofa.

Why did the vampire choke on his blood, though? Was it only effective on him or also on his companion? Would blood from other god’s also work? However the rules, his blood had saved his life in the first place – Bragi’s competences came second. There was no safe way to find any of this out. Anders sincerely hoped that the effect of his blood had discouraged the vampires to further pursue him. Judging from Olaf’s words, however, he was marked. Another two candidates who want him dead. Great. They should start to form an orderly queue, Anders thought with defiance and fell asleep on the couch, stake in hand.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders and Mitchell are both trying to make sense of last night's happenings in their own ways.  
> Since information is key, Mitchell decides to find out more about the blonde god.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens... I guess. 
> 
> Updating took longer than expected, sorry. Have a longer chapter and artwork by my wonderful ConsultingFili!

Mitchell opened his eyes and immediately squinted against the dim light. He closed his eyes again and on second try he could make out a room filled with elegant and expensive furniture. Ivan’s living room. Mitchell was lying flat on his back but still his whole body ached. His muscles felt sore and strained, not one part seemed to work like it was supposed to. He propped himself up from the couch he was lying on and regretted the fast motion instantly when his focus let him down and the world dropped to the side. Through his blurry vision he saw Ivan entering the room, casually sitting down opposite him.

“Look who finally woke up. How are you feeling? Mate, you look awful.” Ivan seemed more personally offended at Mitchell’s state than actually worried.

“Yeah, thanks. I feel like having been kicked by a bastard horse. Several times.” Mitchell buried his aching head in his hands and let out a pained groan. “I thought my worst hangover was bad but this? How long was I out?”

“About ten hours straight.” Ivan crossed the room and stopped in front of an old armoire, busying himself with the contents of it.

“You gotta be joking.” Mitchell leaned back on the backrest and closed his eyes again. Thousands of colours he couldn’t even name were painting strange forms on the insides of his eyelids.

“Drink this,” Ivan interrupted the art-performance in his head and offered Mitchell one of the two beautifully cut glasses that were filled with crimson red blood. “You’ll feel better.”

“Cheers, thanks.” Silently, they nursed their drinks. A few sips in and Mitchell felt the strength returning to his body slowly but surely. His muscles relaxed and the piercing headache subsided to a light throbbing.

“What happened last night? I mean, how…” His thoughts were still all over the place, not one of last night’s occurrences made any sense to him. Start with the basics, he decided. “How did we get here?”

“Well…,” Ivan said, furrowing his brow, “I wish I could tell you exactly. All I can remember is that you stumbled away from the god with a frankly disturbing intensity. The bastard took his chance, wound out of my grip somehow and then…” His voice trailed off.

“Then what?” Mitchell knew as much but did not have any recollection of any event past this point. Agitated, he waited for Ivan’s part of the story – on which he was entirely dependent. They needed to remember, they needed to find out what the fuck had happened in that car park.

“I… it’s difficult to describe. Once he spoke I could not move. He told me to let him go and to stay where I was. I wanted to kill him, obviously, finally be done with it after you were lying there all useless,“ at that, Mitchell shot him an angry look and hissed slightly, “but I couldn’t. I could not move one muscle. My body somehow had to follow the orders the bastard gave, regardless of what my mind wanted. It felt… strange.” Ivan wandered around the room, visibly tense. “This is some serious power, Mitchell, how did we not know about this?”

“I don’t know, Ivan. What happened then?”

Ivan gave him annoyed look. “What do you think? I stood there like the proverbial pillar of salt and could only watch the god make a run for it. All the while you were wreathing unconsciously. Took me a good 15 minutes to snap out of it and even then it was one hell of an ordeal. I grabbed you and got us here.”

_Shit_. Mitchell ran one hand through his curls and closed his eyes. “So he does have actual god powers.”

“Evidently.” Ivan had taken to pacing along the side of the room while Mitchell’s eyes followed him.

In an attempt to make sense of it all, Mitchell said, “But I thought he needed to find Frigg first. You know, get married or whatever to grant everyone access to their powers.” He stared at Ivan as if he was responsible for the mess they were in. “Are you telling me we’re too late? That we fucked up and now there are full-blown gods walking around Bristol?” His voice had gained a sharp edge to it. That sort of thing just _couldn’t_ happen. Not on his watch.

“I don’t know, Mitchell. Maybe. But I think we would’ve noticed if it had already happened. Don’t you think they would have tried to attack us by now? I mean properly attack us, with a plan and not on impulse.” Ivan knocked back the rest of his drink and filled up his glas again.

Mitchell growled but had to admit that Ivan’s theory made sense. Well, as much as any theory about supernatural beings made sense. The sources were frustratingly unreliable. The only thing they knew for sure was that the reincarnation of Odin was closer to finding Frigg than ever before. It was all over for the vampires should that happen, Mitchell thought. They would be hunted, extinguished even, he was sure of it. Gods walking the earth. A disaster.

“My guess is,“ Ivan continued, “that he as Odin has a fraction of his powers already. Beforehand.”

Mitchell remained silent. He took a sip from his drink and when he drew the glass from his mouth, a little residue of blood lingered on his lower lip.

“Regardless,” Ivan sat down again, “what happened when you attacked him? I mean, you were clearly enjoying yourself,“ a suggestive nod, “before you acted like the possessed.”

“It was his blood. Odin’s blood,“ Mitchell said in a flat voice.

“Yes, Mitchell, thank you. I gathered as much. Any further information?” Ivan’s voice was dripping with sarcasm which Mitchell was used to by now.

“It was… toxic. It burned my throat and then infected my entire body. It made me weak, Ivan, I never felt anything like it.”

“We need more facts. This is ridiculous. But before we get to this, you need to clean yourself up.” Ivan nodded down the hall and Mitchell made his way to the bathroom, relieved that Ivan didn’t insist on further discussion. Because the weakness he had felt from the god’s blood was not all there had been to it.

He quickly stripped off his gloves and shirt and started to wash the dried blood off his pale skin. Mitchell clearly remembered the rush. After an initial shakiness he had felt like he could take on every creature on this godforsaken earth – and win. His body had consisted of nothing but raw energy ready to be let loose any second. No amount of human blood could have such an effect. But there was also poison in the god’s blood, he did not lie to Ivan about that part. As soon as too much blood had run down his throat the feeling of power vanished, leaving him fighting against his own body, wanting to scratch it raw. In retrospect, it was a merciful development that Mitchell had become unconscious.

He grabbed an expensive looking towel from the board that was installed above the sink where normal people would place a mirror. Drying his face and throat Mitchell turned to his clothes. They didn’t look too bad, considering last night’s happenings: the shirt was nearly clean, most of the blood must have ended up on his jacket. Mitchell put on his shirt, grabbed his gloves and hesitated. They were chilly and wet from the god’s blood.

The next thing Mitchell knew he pressed them to his lips, felt the sticky substance against his mouth and started to suck on the fabric. A wanting groan escaped his throat as the blood hit his taste buds. His eyes snapped to black, his fangs protruded and he started to feel the bit of extra strength he had found so satisfying last night. His muscles started to feel fresh again, the headache ceased entirely.

Mitchell drew the gloves away from his lips which had curled into a smirk. This was how he was supposed to feel. Strong, powerful, alert. A threat to anyone – if he wanted to be. The feeling seared through him and while he enjoyed it the rational part of his brain feared the consequences. What if it poisoned him? He waited for the sensation to turn over, to become the exact opposite and drain him, to leave him winding on Ivan’s expensive bathroom tiles.

But nothing happened. His nerve endings were more than awake, his mind focused.

_It’s not inherently poisonous_ , Mitchell thought. It all depended on the right dosage.

That, too, was something Ivan didn’t need to know. He was right about one thing though: they needed more information. And Mitchell wanted the god’s blood.

 

*****

 

He could hear the morning, the faint sounds of Bristol’s rush hour passing by his window, the gentle rain that sprinkled against the glass. Anders still lay on the couch, bare-chested and stake tightly gripped. He couldn’t move or open his eyes – he was trapped in a state between sleep and consciousness that mixed the best of both worlds. Or in Anders’ case, the worst. The alcohol induced haze had passed and no longer kept last night’s happenings at bay.

A knowing smirk under pitch black eyes, chilly lips on his throat, a feeling of powerlessness that was scary and exciting. Anders could feel his body react to those fragments; his hips moved without his consent. The vampire’s breath on his skin and his body pressed onto Anders’, making him feel both of their erections meet through their clothes. The vampire’s hand in his hair, tugging and pulling him in for a kiss. He could taste blood, his own blood, licked it from the brunet’s lips while those gloved hands trailed down over Anders’ stomach…

Anders awoke, startled, disoriented and with an almost painful hard-on. He sat up and the stake he made last night fell to the floor and rolled under the sofa with a clattering sound. Instinctively, Anders staggered to the bathroom, turned on the shower and frantically got rid of the trousers and boxerbriefs he was still dressed in. They clung to his sweaty skin.

A vampire fantasy? The part of his brain that was already fully awake wanted to reject this idea, store it in the darkest part of his mind or even better, erase it completely. The rest of him was still caught in the lingering erotic dream. Anders stepped under the shower, lathered his body and began stroking himself. His breathing quickened and when he climaxed he couldn’t help but see the vampire’s face, framed by those ridiculous curls, in his minds eye.

 

*****

 

An hour later, Anders was on his way to the office. He shook his head in slight disbelief. Whatever that fantasy from earlier was – in the light of day it seemed to lose its intensity. Nothing to worry about, he thought, just another kink he could add to his list. If anyone knew about the erotic quality of power games it was him. However, to be on the receiving end of it was definitely new to him. Aders dismissed those thoughts. Sure, last night had been a little… surprising, but he was fine. And there was no use in over-analyzing a stupid wet dream.

He entered the ground floor of the office building JPR was located in and looked at himself in the mirrored lobby. None of the physical and emotional turmoil he had been through in the past twelve hours showed in his appearance. His beard was carefully trimmed, his eyes a clear and focused blue. The sandcoloured suit with a dark blue shirt fitted him perfectly and to finish his deception Anders put on his usual business-smile. Only two tiny bite marks on the left side of his throat gave yesterday’s happenings away. Well, he didn’t have any clients coming in today anyway and with a bit of luck Dawn wouldn’t ask.

Anders walked up the short flight of stairs and turned to the corridor leading to his office. He was just about to enter with a casual joke for Dawn on his lips as he heard a faintly familiar voice with a distinct Irish accent.

“Oh, it’s beautiful. The green hills, the castle overlooking the rugged cliffs and the waves rolling against it… My favourite spot in the world. Maybe I should take you there some time.”

Anders had stopped in his tracks and carefully listened. It was him. And he was hitting on his Dawn. With rising anger Anders heard Dawn snicker charmingly.

“That would be lovely.”

Anders ground his teeth. How dare the vampire threaten him like this? Taking a deep breath to calm himself a little at least, Anders walked into the room with determined steps.

“Good morning, Dawn. I didn’t know I had an appointment this morning.”

Dawn jumped slightly at his harsh tone of voice and quickly answered, “You don’t. But Mr Harrison here is considering us as his new PR partner and dropped by to gain an impression of our team and the environment we work in. He waited for you since you don’t have a client right now. You can spare a moment, can’t you?”

Anders forced a smile. The vampire had traded in his hobo-look for a more business oriented approach. Dressed in black, clean skinnies, a grey shirt and a black vest he looked almost like a potential client would.

“Of course. Mr Harrison, please come on through this way.”

The vampire bowed his head slightly and took the lead not before winking at Dawn. “Thank you, darlin’.”

_I’ll rip out your fangs, you prick, if you so much as make a fast movement around Dawn_. Anders needed to get Dawn out of the office for the time being – there was no way to predict how this meeting would go.

“Dawn, when you’re done with your girly blushing, why don’t you take a two-hour break?”

“A break? Anders, I just got here half an hour ago.”

“Yeah.. doesn’t matter. Treat yourself to one of those ridiculous cupcakes you love so much or something. I’m sure you’ll pass the time.”

Anders walked to his desk, leaving a confused Dawn behind who started to gather her things.

“So, Mr Harrison, lovely of you to drop by. How can I help you? Here at JPR we are always interested in new and exciting…” Anders heard the door close behind Dawn and turned to the vampire.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He glared at the vampire.

“Paying you a visit. I thought we could get to know one another,” he answered in a nonchalant tone that pissed off Anders even more.

“By threatening my assistant?”

“Threatening?” the brunet asked, “I was only making conversation. She’s a lovely girl, Mr Johnson.”

“You stay away from her.” Anders stared intensely at the man in front of him which he only commented with a dark chuckle.

“Don’t worry, I’m not interested in her or her attractively pale throat.” _Good_ , Anders thought, growing calmer. He didn’t exactly believe the vampire’s words but at least for now Dawn was safe. Anders was determined to be the one in charge in this… meeting? Attack? Whatever. _Now cut to the chase._

“Then what are you interested in?”

“You.”

“Is that why you dressed up?” Back to his usual sarcastic self Anders crooked an eyebrow and a vague gesture to indicate the vampire’s clothes followed.

“Oh, you noticed.” In any other situation, the brunet’s smile would have constituted as flirty.

“Yes, I’m flattered you’ve taken such care in your appearance. If it’s any consolation: I wouldn’t kick you out of bed normally but the whole blood-drinking-cult-thing is not exactly up my street. I humbly pass.”

The vampire let the smile drop and his words acquired a serious note. “I’m afraid it’s not that easy.”

“Oh but yes, it is. See, you just leave me and Dawn alone, turn around and make sure the door doesn’t hit you on the way out.”

Not acknowledging a word he had just uttered the brunet took two lazy steps around Anders and let himself fall into the chair behind the desk.

_Oh, an open challenge. How novel._ “You’re in my chair.”

A smug grin that didn’t reach his eyes was the only answer.

“I don’t even know your name”, Anders went on.

“Dawn told you. It’s Harrison.”

“You could at least have picked a more popular Beatle.”

Approval flickered over the vampire’s face. “Mitchell.”

“Mitchell. Why are you here?”

Mitchell stood up and came closer to Anders. Damn, this guy moves smoothly, Anders thought and his brain provided the fitting image of Mitchell lunging at him in the parking lot. Anders narrowed his eyes and instinctively took on a slightly defensive pose.

“As I said, I’d like to know more about you.”

“Well, let’s see, I’m an Aquarius, I enjoy long walks on Sunday afternoons, my favourite drink is iced water with a splash of lemon…,” Anders stood his ground.

“Handsome and funny, I’m in luck,” Mitchell let his eyes wander over the entirety of Ander’s body, “Except I had something different in mind.”

“Like what?”

“Like what will you do when you and your family of god-freaks become almighty?”

Anders took a step back. “What’s it to you? We are no threat to vampires.”

“Curiously, this is both right and wrong. A family of gods is indeed a threat, wouldn’t you agree? With all the power and shit that comes with being a god. But then again, if Odin dies, none of you will live to see another day, isn’t that right?”

Mitchell moved even closer to him and as Anders took another step back his shoulders touched the wall. His only way out now was Bragi’s sweet talk but Anders intended to find out as much about their situation as he could before using his powers. Again the vampire’s body, though not touching him, stood in the way of him and his freedom. This time, Anders did not feel repulsed by their proximity. He hated to admit it but the man in front of him was intriguing. Up close he saw Mitchell’s features which seemed manly despite being fairly clean-cut. Now that his eyes weren’t pitch black Anders could make out that they were of a dark green with a pinch of brown – a colour which would surely shift in different lighting. The dark curls looked different now, styled and tamed. Anders nearly regretted that they weren’t in wild disarray like he imagined this morning in the sh-…. Oh no, he wouldn’t go there. Not with the vampire talking of killing his brother.

Mitchell lifted his right hand and started to rub his right thumb slightly over Anders’ throat. Anders could feel his heartbeat quicken. Not from fear, he realized, but from arousal.

“I could slash your pretty throat right here, cupcake, and it would all be over for you and your family.”

Anders was nearly too distracted by Mitchell’s sugary voice coating those dangerous words, the sudden touch and the unexpected way his body reacted to catch the meaning of this sentence. Then it hit him. _He thinks I’m Odin. This is why I was the only one who got attacked._

“My throat?”

“Your throat, Odin’s throat… Forgive my ignorance, sweetheart, I don’t know how you refer to the god _in you_.” A cocky smirk. Anders did get the lewd phrasing and was sure that he should do something with this new information but fuck, the vampire’s voice had become deeper and Anders relished the unfamiliar sound the “r”s took on when spilling out of Mitchell’s mouth.

“You could do all that. Except my blood is poisonous for you.” Anders managed to give his voice a somewhat steady sound.

“Don’t be so sure about that, darling. Why don’t you let me nip at one of your arteries and I’ll show you?” Anders inhaled sharply as Mitchell’s hand withdrew from his throat and grazed his upper body before coming to a halt on his right thigh. “There’s a perfect one right here.”

Anders could feel Mitchell’s cool touch through the thin fabric of his suit trousers as if there was nothing inbetween. Involuntarily, his hips bucked a little to meet Mitchell’s touch.

“Of course, love,” the brunet said, his voice a barely audible growl, “I will make it worth your while.”

With these words, his hand moved further up Anders’ thigh who let out a surprised groan. Just Mitchell’s words and dominance had made him rock hard in a laughable short amount of time. The close proximity between them and the minimalist touch of Mitchell’s hand made for an intoxicating mixture.

“What do you think?” Mitchell purred, this time close to Anders’ ear, trailing his fingers along the clear outline of the blonde’s erection.

Anders didn’t trust his voice to carry. _Lo and behold, the_ _God of Poetry_. This situation was absurd – he should throw the guy out, bragi him into forgetting about anything Johnsons- and god-related, making damn sure tha-... Anders felt himself nod.

The air Mitchell breathed out in a pleased chuckle washed over the bite marks on Anders throat and made him shiver slightly. Mitchell’s right hand still rubbed Anders’ cock through the fabric while his left expertly unbuckled his belt.

“You won’t regret it... Mr Johnson.”

With these words, Mitchell dropped to his knees and started to undress Anders painstakingly slow, all the while lazily stroking his cock. The more time he took, the hornier Anders became. He took a deep breath and leaned on the wall behind him when finally the vampire’s hands touched his erection without any interfering material. Mitchell’s cool touch felt strangely pleasant on his hot, sensitive skin and Anders bucked his hips a little, encouraging him to go faster. He swore he noticed a sadistic grin dart over what he could see of Mitchell’s face. Oh no, he would not start to beg.

The next thing he felt was Mitchell’s tongue licking his cock from base to tip and slightly flicking at its head. Anders sharply drew in air and resisted just barely his instinct to grab Mitchell’s curls. Instead, he placed his hands on the wall for support – just in time when Mitchell wrapped his lips around his cock and started to suck.

“Oh, fuck...” Anders hissed. Mitchell’s movements weren’t slow anymore; the sudden change of pace made Anders moan in arousal. The warmth of Mitchell’s mouth and the coolness his lips left was a combination that took Anders by surprise. It made him feel dizzy, high and just downright amazing. He scratched at the wall, threw back his head and closed his eyes, entirely focussing on the sensation Mitchell’s skilled tongue brought about. He was close, so close, when Mitchell suddenly stopped and his hand took the place of his mouth. Anders gasped. _Fucking tease_. Mitchell continued to jerk him off when Anders suddenly felt a tiny jab on the inside of his thigh, quickly followed by a mouth that was sucking at it. His eyes darted open as he remembered his end of the deal. A surprised “What the-“ escaped him but ended in a breathless moan when the additional touch on his thigh made Ander’s pulse accelerate even more. Mitchell’s stubble grazed his skin and Anders felt his blood trickle from the wound.

That shouldn’t be this hot, he thought, reveling the unfamiliar mixture of sensations and trying to hold on for a little longer. He wanted more of Mitchell, wanted to touch him, kiss him, fuck him, scratch at his pale skin and coax sounds of pleasure from his throat. In an attempt to control himself, Anders pressed his palms into the wall and stared at the vampire frantically licking his bleeding skin, swallowing his blood. It was the perfect picture of sin, the brunet’s eyes sensually closed but doubtless pitch black under the lids. This idea drove Anders close to the edge when Mitchell’s mouth returned to his cock, sucking him off for good this time.

“Hnngh... Babe...” Anders came with an uncontrollable shiver that ran through his entire body and groaned so loud he was sure the offices down the corridor would have something to gossip about.

Light-headed, Anders continued to cling to the wall while the aftershocks of his orgasm were shooting through him. He didn’t trust his legs to carry him just now and shut his eyes for a moment, trying to catch his breath and enjoy the relaxing feeling of coming down.

Opening them again he would’ve made another surprised step back hadn’t he been stuck to the wall already: Mitchell’s face pretty much filled his whole vision. _Dammit, how does that man move so silently_? A lazy smile decorated Mitchell’s lips – Anders unconsciously licked over his own – but something was different. Even in his dazed state he saw that this surely had not been a normal feeding for the Irishman.

The fangs had retracted and his body language was relaxed but his eyes remained in vampire mode. They were directed at Anders, impossible to say whether they focussed him or just stared blindly. Anders, now standing on his own feet again, couldn’t avert his gaze. Then it hit him: Mitchell’s eyes weren’t only of a coal black anymore. A ring of tiny golden specks had appeared positioned exactly where each pupil normally would be.

_What the hell is that?_

The god could make out the individual dots that seemed to move ever so slightly in a circular motion. Aside from being creepy as fuck, Anders wondered whether this was what his godly power looked like. Ty had a blue-ish spirit which corresponded to cold and darkness. Why shouldn’t he have a golden one?

_The golden aura of poetry_.

This sounded so ridiculous Anders nearly laughed out loud. Yet before he could comment on any of it with a snarky statement Mitchell’s eyes returned to their human form. One blink and it was over, no sign left of either the black or golden particles.

Mitchell staggered a little, taking a few step back and ran both his hands through his curls. Anders saw the smile fade and the hands tremble. A shakiness had taken hold of Mitchell that strongly contrasted the image of the cocky bastard who had walked in earlier.

Anders didn’t know what to do. Was he having a reaction to his blood? Was he supposed to help? Or run? For a second Anders was worried that Mitchell might collapse right there in his office, leaving him with a unconscious-living-dead vampire to deal with.

Before it could come to this, however, Mitchell looked up again. For just a second, he stared into Anders’ eyes and tilted his head as if something puzzled him. Then, another transformation happened and Anders saw how the smile, the attitude and the confidence was back in place.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Mr Johnson.”

A mock-bow, a sarcastic tone of voice and he was gone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for comments and kudos on the first chapter :) I hope you enjoyed the new one and the artwork as well!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I feel like a deal is in order."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you lovely people for comments and kudos :) I hope you'll enjoy the next chapter.
> 
> Beta-d and illustrated by my ConsultingFili!

It had been a week since Mitchell fed from the god. He could sense every hour since then, the uneasy feeling rising from his stomach into his throat, resulting in him snapping at everyone who dared to look at him. Mitchell shook the lighter a few times and lit his cigarette. With a greedy drag he inhaled the smoke, kept it in his lungs until it did his magic and exhaled slowly.

 _What a fucking mess_ , he thought for the hundredth time this day. Nothing was remotely going according to plan, abso-fucking-lutely nothing. His conversation with Ivan after his visit to the god’s office had escalated somewhat to a full scale fight. Walking back home now from a second meeting, Mitchell had at least managed to calm Ivan down and made him accept a temporary solution. Good thing he trusted him.

“It’s not him, Ivan,“ he had said, “I swear, it must be someone else. They are not the only god family around who might have Odin in their midst. Maybe your sources were unreliable. How about I take care of this and you look into other options?” Eventually, Ivan had concurred and let off the Johnsons-hunt for the time being. Mitchell felt a tinge of anger about the necessity of lying to his friend which he quickly discarded with another thought. _I have my reasons_.

He cut another corner and finally, the nicotine calmed him down.

So he had found Odin, lied to his hunting partner and found something better, way better than a rush of human blood and kept it from Ivan. Not only that but he had developed a greed for the god’s blood in a mere week. _Fucking fantastic_ , Mitchell thought, _another fine mess_.

Nothing fucking worked out. He had been so sure that Anders would react to their meeting. From what Mitchell had found out afterwards, the god was a bit of a man-whore so his approach had definitely been the right one. Why didn’t he do something? Anything? Mitchell’s body begged him to give in, to seek out the god again and drink from him.

 _No_ , he thought, _I’m_ _not an addict. Besides, it’s his move_.

With an angry growl Mitchell reached his front door. Uncertain, he played with his keys but decided against opening the door and in favour of another smoke. It’s not like he had an immediate plan anyway. The cigarette between his lips he clicked the lighter. And clicked. Mitchell frowned and shook it again. Click, click, click.

“Fucking piece of shit,“ he hissed and threw the empty lighter across the street where it hit the kerb and bounced against a car.

“Maybe I can be of help?“ intruded a voice with a Kiwi accent.

Mitchell turned and saw the god casually strolling towards him. A metre away from Mitchell he stopped, produced a lighter from his surely expensive slacks and tossed it to the vampire.

 _I knew you would come out of hiding_ , Mitchell thought after an initial second of surprise. _Maybe this day is looking up_. With a satisfied grin he caught the lighter in one gloved hand. He lit his cig and with the exhale, he threw the lighter back.

 

 

 

“Mr Johnson.” Mitchell’s nervous agitation had gone and was replaced with an alert tension. He would damn sure make the most out of this situation.

With an attentive look he scanned Anders from head to toe. _Dressed just as stylish as last week_ , Mitchell thought. He inadvertently admired how the grey suit was perfectly tailored to the god’s compact statue. Anders didn’t appear like a sleazy salesman but as someone who meant business. _In another world he’d make great mates with Ivan._

“You sucked my dick. You might as well call me Anders, “ came the reply.

“Isn’t that a little too intimate?”

Anders shrugged his shoulders. “Whatever does it for you, hon.”

 _The guy is good when it comes to trash talk_.

“Did you enjoy our little chat the other day?” Mitchell put the cigarette to his lips again and gave the act of inhaling a deliberate sexual twist. With gratification he saw that it didn’t go unnoticed.

“Almost as much as you did.”

“Good.” The prospect of the god’s blood tempted him to rush things. But Mitchell tried to stay calm. Anders wasn’t here just for kicks – there must be another reason. Mitchell waited, trying to give himself a relaxed look.

Finally, the god took another step towards him and closed the formal distance to a face to face situation. _There we go_.

“I’m here to propose a deal.” Anders’ tone was still light but severity lay underneath his words.

“A deal?” Mitchell’s curiosity was sparked. This was not how it usually went. Normally, he was the one offering deals – now, an arrogant business man had the audacity to do so. _Well_ , he thought, _let’s see what he’s got to offer_.

“Yes. We should talk about this inside.” Anders motioned to the house with determination.

Mitchell chuckled lightly. Little puffs of smoke left his nose. “Aren’t you quite the stalker. How do you know this is where I live?”

Anders shot him a confident grin that displayed dimples in his sandcoloured beard. “I work in PR. I know stuff.”

“Creepy,” Mitchell said and ran his left hand through his hair. Despite his easy appearance the urge to finally _drink_ from the god was growing in the base of his stomach and steadily climbing up his throat.

“Trust me, this is not a conversation you would want to have on your doorstep.” All banter had vanished from Anders’ voice.

Mitchell sighed, dropped the cigarette butt on the ground and opened the door. Whatever this deal would turn out to be – he would have his blood fix by the end of the night. Taking two steps at a time he arrived at his apartment and invited Anders in with an annoyed gesture.

“After you.”

The living room/kitchen area they entered looked like every mother’s bachelor-pad-nightmare. Clothes were strewn about, mixed with records and used mugs. The daily paper was stacked about a mile high, next to old pizza cartons and empty beer bottles. The only place that looked like it was used in its intended form was a dark brown leather couch on the far end of the room, next to a door that possibly lead to the bedroom.

“I love what you’ve done with the place,” Anders remarked sarcastically.

Mitchell only shrugged. If the blonde was here to talk about a deal between gods and vampires he shouldn’t be picky about the surroundings, he thought. Whatever came out of it would be messier than his place anyway.

Leaning on the counter with crossed arms, Mitchell threw the god a questioning look.

“So?”

Anders finally stopped his eyes from wandering around the room and focussed Mitchell.

“Since you and your better dressed kind are hell bent on killing gods I feel like a deal is in order. You see, we are no threat to you. Hell, we lived next to each other for so long, barely recognizing anything about the other. Then all of the sudden you come around and try to kill Odin. Now, that’s just bad manners. What do you say we forget this transgression, each keep to their own and we never cross paths again?” He had put on a non-chalant smile to sell his point but Mitchell was wary. He had been in too many of those kinds of negotiations over the years to agree straight away.

“Tempting. But this is your promise now. What will happen once you and your charming family have access to your full powers?”

“Nothing. We leave you and the whole vampire society like it is. As I said, different hunting grounds.”

“Yeah, but see, here’s the thing: I don’t believe you, sweetheart.” Mitchell tilted his head and smiled a sweet and smug grin at Anders, challenging him to be more convincing.

“Does that stop you from keeping your horny fangs to yourself?”

In a grin, Mitchell bared his teeth, making sure Anders could see them through his parted lips. The tip of his tongue ran over the spot that hid his fangs. “Yes, as a matter of fact, it does.”

Anders sighed theatrically while Mitchell concentrated further on not attacking him. Patience wasn’t exactly one of his virtues to begin with but the negotiation kept him at least somewhat in control and entertained.

“Then, honey, let me sweeten the deal for you,” Anders continued.

 _Now we’re talking_ , Mitchell thought and crooked an eyebrow. “And what do you think you have to offer that would stop me from hunting you down, darling?”

“My blood.”

Mitchell froze. “Your blood.”

“Exactly.”

The Irishman forced his lips into smiling but his eyes remained cold and averted Anders’ gaze. _Calm down_ , he thought, _he only offers it because you drank from him. You’re a vampire, after all. He doesn’t know._

“You seem awfully sure, love. Blood is not that hard to come by these days.” Despite his surprise, Mitchell managed to keep a casual posture and his poker-face.

“You can drop the act.” Anders was all serious now, the wrinkles on his forehead deepened when he continued, “I saw you after drinking from me. This was not your average blood fix.”

He knew. The bastard knew that his blood was special to Mitchell; there was no use in denying it. The initial shock wore off and Mitchell’s brain started to go into overdrive, giving him an echo of the high he had experienced. He could have that buzz again – whenever he wanted. Not only once but regularly. A direct access to the good stuff. Sure, he would have to deal with Ivan but....

Mitchell cleared his throat. “What an immoral offer.”

“You don’t strike me as the type who takes the moral high ground,” Anders replied very matter-of-factly.

Mitchell had made up his mind. How could he not with such a possibility presenting itself? Yet he remained calm and cool in his demeanour. _No harm in finding out a little more before signing anything._

“What if I just killed you? No more gods, no more fights…”

“No more blood. Only one juicy overdose. And we both have seen how this goes down for you.” Then, added as an afterthought with a sarcastic grin, “Babe.” Anders seemed to be in his element now.

“Overdose? I’m not an addict.” Mitchell was clenching his jaw now, perfectly aware of how desperate this claim came across. A deep breath and his bored face was back in place. “Besides, Ivan can easily kill you before any enchanted word can leave your mouth.”

“And why hasn’t he, if you’re such great mates? I’m thinking you don’t share with him.” Fake-concern was dripping from Anders’ voice. He was indeed a business man, Mitchell had to admit, using every dirty trick in the book. _Son of a bitch._

“So, now we’ve finished flirting let me wrap things up,” Anders said into the silence that had ensued and gestured to illustrate both sides of the deal, “I promise we won’t overturn your society and I offer you a decent amount of my blood if you and your pals steer clear of the Johnsons in return. And Dawn.”

Mitchell pushed himself from the counter and took a step towards the god. “If you betray me I will kill you and your family. And Dawn.”

Anders didn’t even blink. “Fair enough.”

“I do expect you pay upfront.”

“Obviously.”

“Deal.”

 

*****

 

 

“Take off your shirt.”

“I love it when you’re bossy.”

Mitchell had lost all taste for playful word games and simply glared at Anders who stared back in defiance. The god took off his tie and jacket and started to unbutton his shirt slowly. He was shorter than Mitchell and more compact in his build. The fabric gave way to broad shoulders over a strong chest. Blonde hair framed delicately defined muscles. Quite the sight, Mitchell had to admit, but his focus lay elsewhere. He could practically see the veins pulsating under Anders skin, full of the blood he craved so badly.

A wanting growl made his way out of Mitchell’s throat and he yanked his own shirt over his head, got rid of his gloves and threw everything carelessly into a corner.

“Sit down there,” he pointed to the sofa, “or even better, lie down.” Mitchell’s breathing took on a heavier note as the god adhered to his suggestion and sprawled his half-naked body out on the couch, still staring at him with the I’m-in-charge-look. But something different had crept into his expression. It took Mitchell a moment to decode it.

Fear.

For a split second, Mitchell wondered about Anders’ reasons. He willingly put himself in a situation that clearly scared him for... his family?

A sudden jolt went through Mitchell.

This man was offering himself. Not only a part of his wealth or reputation but his very flesh and blood. He sacrificed himself to make sure his family remained unharmed. In his head, Mitchell heard his sister cry and his parents struggle and his own voice remained silent facing what could have been averted. If only he had been brave enough. If only he had been strong.

 _No_ , he implored himself, _focus_. The rings on his fingers clicked as he clenched a fist.

He took a deep breath and looked at Anders again who had nearly covered up his horror with an earnest expression. _What a strange creature_.

“This won’t be painful,” Mitchell said in a tender voice, “I promise.” He moved closer to Anders. This time, his movements were deliberately slow. Not used as a weapon and to increase sexual tension like it had been at the office but to underline the honesty of his words.

Anders nodded and lay back on the cushions with his head on the armrest when Mitchell came closer.

“Stretch out your weak arm.” Anders extended his left and Mitchell carefully crawled on top of him. He rested on his knees, one in between the god’s legs, his left arm next to Anders’ shoulder. With his right, Mitchell trailed along Anders’ biceps. He looked into his eyes, cautiously, as if to resign the deal. The bravery in the blonde’s eyes tore at a part of Mitchell’s heart he thought he had left behind years ago. But just as Mitchell was about to withdraw and let Anders walk his hand found a vein. The rush of blood under his fingertips made his eyes turn black, his fangs came out and the moment of doubt passed.

Yet, he owed it to the god to stand by his promise.

Mitchell slowly leaned in as for a kiss but pressed his lips on the vein on Anders’ upper arm. It was throbbing against his mouth and he fought the instinct to tear it out. _Just a nip_ , he reminded himself, _a nip that doesn’t give me an overdose and hurts him as little as possible_.

One sharp bite and Anders gasped from what Mitchell hoped was surprise rather than pain. A narrow stream of blood flowed into the vampire’s mouth. It hit his tongue, his taste buds and streamed down his throat, leaving a fiery trail behind. He could feel himself grow hard and incoherent sounds forced their way out of Mitchell; he tried to hold on as strongly as possible. His chest was covered in a thin layer of sweat and heaved heavily. _Finally_ , his body nearly screamed at him. Mitchell felt the familiar tingle of his suddenly alert nerve endings and the weakness that came before the high he so craved.

His arms and knees gave in and Mitchell crushed onto Anders with his full weight. The god under him groaned but he barely noticed while lapping further at Anders’ arm, sucking up the restricted flow. _Just a little more_... He ground his whole body into Anders’ with a desperate growl, noticed how the god had started to meet his movements, equally aroused. When he finally felt the high approaching, Mitchell fell down on the god’s chest again, let go of his arm and felt the fangs retract.

That was it, the perfect dosage. His eyes took on another focus, his surroundings became more intense and his senses were sharp, noticing everything at once in equal measure. The subtle prickle of the god’s beard on his shoulder, the smell of blood and fresh sweat. The taste of Anders’ skin on his tongue and the muted moans of pleasure the god was uttering with each move Mitchell made. Anders’ chest hot against Mitchell’s cool body. Their legs entangled. Mitchell experienced every cell of Anders’ right hand that ran along his naked side down to his arse, pressing the vampire closer to him while the god was pushing up his hips. Mitchell’s breath hitched in his throat and the fabric of his jeans became tighter. Despite – or rather because? – experiencing every sensation so clearly, he decided purely on instinct. He bucked his hips to give them both more friction through their trousers, resulting in two stifled intakes of breath. “Fu-fuck, darling!”

The god under him felt so good, his burning skin made Mitchell’s tingle where it touched his body. High on his blood and hot for the man under him, Mitchell continued to move his hips, rubbing their erections against each other through two layers of clothing. Anders dug his left in Mitchell’s back and closed any space that may have been between them. The god’s deep breathing sounded like music in Mitchell’s ears and heightened his arousal. His left hand wound up in Anders’ hair and tugged at it while he pressed his mouth on the hollow between the god’s collar bone and throat.

“No!“ he heard Anders gasp and his body turned rigid under him. Confused, Mitchell pulled back a bit and saw how the fear crept back into Anders’ eyes. Something else was different, too. They weren’t ocean blue anymore. Mitchell saw a golden veil that seemed to cover the irises, translucent in its quality with something dark moving about in the soft glow. He had seen this before, he remembered, when he had fed from Anders in his office.

“Don’t... Don’t take more.” Anders’ voice was a coarse order.

“Shh, don’t worry, I won’t hurt you,” Mitchell whispered and thriving on his high he realized that he meant those words. The god must have felt it because Mitchell could tell he relaxed a bit. “I don’t want your blood right now,“ he went on, his voice husky, “I want you.”

The words were out. With both hands, Anders grabbed Mitchell’s hips, pushing him up a little. For a second, Mitchell thought he was rejected and sat back up. The movement coaxed a groan from both their throats and Mitchell realised his misreading of the situation when Anders started to unbutton his jeans.

The fabric had taken on an irritating feeling for Mitchell and he was glad that Anders was taking care of this problem. He ran his hands over the god’s arms, noticed that the wound had stopped bleeding. He straddled Anders and admired the way the muscles on his stomach rippled when he pulled himself up a bit to undo the last button. Ander’s nimble hands found their way under the waistband of Mitchell’s underwear, freeing his cock from the uncomfortable surrounding.

“Easy!“ Mitchell panted as Anders wrapped his hand around his cock and started to run it up and down. His left grabbed Anders’ shoulder to steady himself. The god’s touch felt good, great actually, but Mitchell wasn’t fully used to the heightened sensitivity yet. Anders slowed down his movements and Mitchell continued to move his hips. His right hand circled the blonde’s hard nipple which was peeking through the chest hair. He pinched, quick and hard. Anders gasped in surprise and sat up fully, one hand coming to rest on Mitchell’s arse. The motion made Mitchell’s hands follow the perfect trail of blonde curls down to where it vanished in Anders’ trousers. The clear bulge rubbed against Mitchell’s cock which Anders was still jerking and a long-drawn-out moan by Mitchell and a pant by Anders filled the room. Mitchell’s hands were shaking and the act of finally, _finally_ freeing Anders’ cock didn’t go as smoothly as he wanted.

“Feeling a bit needy?”, he heard Anders’ voice, now rasping with desire.

“Shut up,“ Mitchell murmured, traded skill for strength and yanked open Anders’ pants. His hands went directly for his cock, one finger thumbing over the tip which drew a muffled “Fuck” from Anders’ mouth. Mitchell pressed his lips on the exact spot that had freaked out Anders earlier and sucked. This time, he heard the god growl in arousal, felt the vibration of the sound and licked over the collar bone. Sucking and licking he trailed up Anders’ throat, who had thrown his head back, while they were still working their hands on each others’ erections. Before Mitchell could reach Anders’ lips, he felt his back hit the sofa and the blonde sat on top of him.

Anders leaned forward, trapping their cocks between their sweaty bodies and lay still. Mitchell was squirming under the god’s weight, desperate for friction and release which Anders deprived him of so cruelly and with a smug grin.

“Move, you prick,“ Mitchell panted. He could feel every atom in his body craving an orgasm which would be even better after having fed.

“What, can’t you hold on any longer?,“ Anders asked and pinned him further down, grabbing him by the wrists. Mitchell could see that Anders himself was barely hanging on but somehow managed to remain still.

“Isn’t a little late in the day for games?,“ he asked, his voice hoarse. Mitchell freed one hand from Anders’ grip to run it down his back with blunt nails.

“It never is.” The hand that had let go of Mitchell moved to play with the brunet’s mussed-up curls while Anders’ lips planted longing kisses on his nipples.

“For fuck’s sake!” Mitchell could barely take it anymore. He wanted release, now, and desperately tried to move his hips. His free hand wound up in Anders’ hair and yanked at it so hard the blonde cried out in a mixture of pain and pleasure. This impulse made him move again, like Mitchell had hoped. _Fucking finally_. Anders’ eyes had taken on a hungry expression, fuelled by lust, and Mitchell saw the dark shadow in the golden glow become larger with his face coming closer. Anders’ right hand trailed down Mitchell’s body and placed his fingers around both their cocks.

“About fucking time, cupcake”, Mitchell hissed. Anders had now given up all pretence and was rapidly rutting against the vampire under him who joined in. Their panting grew heavier and when Anders scraped his teeth over Mitchell’s throat the brunet came, hard.

The built-up tension was released in violently twitching muscles beyond pain or pleasure. The blood high synced perfectly with Mitchell’s orgasm, showing him a new dimension of feeling. More intense, more than only the sum of its parts. He wanted to scream in ecstasy and euphoria and whatever else he was feeling he couldn’t name. Yet no sound came from his throat but a muffled moan. Anders didn’t take much longer and pressed his face on Mitchell’s shoulder with a deep growl and another biting kiss.

They both were catching their breath and remained lying how they came undone. Mitchell enjoyed the god’s weight on him – it gave him an anchor in this world he could return to after the amazing light-headedness of his orgasm. His focussed attention had become a state of calm like he never experienced before. His senses were still sharp but the driven feeling had gone, leaving him relaxed just when Anders started to move and sat up. Mitchell faintly noticed how the god made his way to the bathroom and nearly dozed off before he returned.

“So this is how this will go down?“ Anders’ voice cut through Mitchell’s haze.

“Huh?” Mitchell opened his eyes, now more brown than green, to the sight of Anders standing a few feet away from him, buttoning up his shirt. _I could do a lot worse than that._ He had shed any sign of what had happened – his hair was styled, his skin had a fresh glow and his eyes betrayed nothing of either the fear he had shortly felt or the experienced orgasm. They were back to their familiar blue without a trace of the stained golden veil.

“We meet, you drink my blood, we fuck?” Anders grabbed his tie from a chair and slipped it under his collar.

“This is what you agreed to.” Mitchell propped himself up on one elbow, a wary feeling creeping up on him. _Don’t chicken out, god, you pretty much sealed the deal there_.

“No one said anything about sex,” Anders pointed out as he put on his suit coat and smoothed his outfit.

 _True_. “You don’t seem bothered by it.”

“Whatever.” A card came flying at Mitchell, nearly hitting him in the nose. “Here’s my number. Don’t drop by the office.” With a last look at Mitchell Anders turned and closed the door behind him.

Mitchell lay back again and smiled. He had a pretty good feeling that Anders wasn’t going to miss out on the physical part _._

 _You get off on me,_ he thought, _this will prove to be an interesting arrangement_. He didn’t have a proper plan in case Ivan started to become restless but at least he had a stable supply of blood for now. He would take care of the rest soon enough.

Regardless, Anders’ reasons puzzled him. Mitchell sat up, grabbed his tobacco and started to roll himself a cigarette. The short moment just before he had joined Anders and buried his fangs in the blonde’s arm still lingered in his mind. How it had jump-started his memory.

 _The god must be very close to his family_ , Mitchell thought and felt his heart harden to avoid the tug of humanity. He licked the paper and stuck the cigarette between his lips, searching for a lighter.

Offering up yourself as a blood supply for an addict vampire was not a deal you sign lightly. Against his will, Mitchell felt a twinge of admiration for Anders. Sure, he himself had left any form of morality or honour behind a long time ago and hadn’t regretted it. But that didn’t mean that he couldn’t recognize it if stared him in the face. Or got him off.

Mitchell sighed and found Anders’ lighter between the sofa cushions; it must have fallen out of his pocket. Mitchell lit the cig and inhaled deeply. Even the nicotine tasted stronger after the blood fix.

He really shouldn’t dwell on the god’s reasons. It was an agreement they, well, ‘signed’. Two parties who offer each other something to ensure something else. Not a basis of trust. They each had their own motivations for this deal. Noble or selfish, their causes were better left undiscussed. With this conviction, Mitchell finished his cigarette and finally got up. His lust for blood was sated but his desire for a good hunt came through. By the time he turned on the shower, his mind had mapped out a route to make the most of the sharpness the high left him with. _Let the fun continue_.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when you think it's all taken care of an addict vampire shows up on your doorstep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a bit of blood play and mention of alcoholism in this one...

“I meant to ask,“ Dawn said and dropped a bunch of files on Anders‘ desk, „did you hear back from Mr Harrison?“

“Who?” Anders looked up from the paper he had been staring at the past ten minutes. _Family bled dry_ , the headline read.

“You know, the cute Irish guy.” Anders saw how a little bit of pink crept into Dawn’s alabaster cheeks.

“Cute?” What a fitting adjective to describe Mitchell, Anders thought sarcastically, “Dawn, we don’t pick clients on account of ‘cute’.”

“Oh yeah?” Dawn crooked an eyebrow, “I’m sure Ms D-Cup would beg to differ.”

“She wasn’t cute, she was…”

“Never mind,” Dawn interrupted Anders before he had the chance to elaborate on any of this.

“Anyway,” he said after a few seconds, “in answer to your question: Mr Cute Irish Guy Harrison won’t drop by again. We… uh… we talked at length and it turns out that our company doesn’t have the resources to go through with his ideas.”

“Oh.” Dawn seemed genuinely disappointed.

“I don’t think you’re missing out, though,” Anders continued and leaned back in his chair, “He may be attractive and that accent definitely sells but who knows what sort of mess he’s hiding. People like him only draw you in, Dawnsie, until you can’t get out any more.”

“Look at that, Anders Johnson defends my honour. You seem in a good mood.”

“Well, I can’t have you all distracted at work, now can I?”

Dawn huffed exasperated, picked up a couple of envelopes and returned to her desk. She was right, though: Anders was in a reasonably good mood. Well, as good as they come for him anymore; the bar wasn’t set particularly high. Today marked the fourth week that his family had not bugged him.

Axl hadn’t sought him out to attack him again for sleeping with Gaia, Mike had left him in peace and Ty had apparently understood that Anders didn’t want any kind of attention from him – especially not pity. Olaf wasn’t one for regular visits anyway.

 _Just keep your god-stuff away from me,_ Anders thought, the little residue of his decent mood on the decline again. The appeal of becoming a full scale god had dwindled a lot since Axl’s 21 st birthday. How excited Anders had been, how eager to help Axl fulfill the quest and _finally_ be something more than the ‘dwarf brother’ who everybody picked on. In the dead of night he had dreamt not of stronger Bragi powers but of the respect that would come with them. Respect and acknowledgement and a feeling of self-esteem. Of actually being worth something.

But then everything got mixed up, Helen had died and Gaia became Idunn. Bragi’s beloved. Anders was still uncomfortable when thinking about their- whatever that was. He as a human didn’t even like Gaia. Sure, she was easy on the eyes but they just couldn’t stand one another. Anders knew that Axl didn’t put it beyond him to sleep with Gaia on his own account but in all honesty, they would never click. Yet they had been at the mercy of the godly spirits without a chance to fight their destiny. Of course it had all been Anders’ fault, according to Axl who conveniently overlooked the fact that there’s usually a minimum of two people to a good fuck and to cheat on a third _. And another instance in which blood means nothing,_ Anders thought darkly.

From what he heard, Gaia had booked a ticket to somewhere and was out of his ‘godly postcode’, as Olaf had put it so colourfully. The only way they would be able to let go of each other. It seemed true, Anders hadn’t felt any... _urges_ since Ty had left him that voicemail. Still it was difficult to forget that episode. More than once Anders had woken up in cold sweat, haunted by god hunters, Helen, Gaia and his brothers in nightmarish visions. Some things aren’t easily shaken.

Anders absently rubbed the spot on his throat where the nail in the pile of rubble had torn his vein and nearly killed him. Michele had saved him but now there was another injury: the mark of Mitchell’s fangs. Nearly healed, nothing left but two spots that were lighter than the rest of his skin.

At least now, with his family steering clear of him, he didn’t have to defend his actions constantly. The deal he had struck with the vampire seemed to work. Anders knew from reliable sources that his kin was still alive and kicking.

He didn’t exactly know how Mitchell managed to keep his mates’ fangs from the Johnsons but he wasn’t too bothered about it – as long as he kept up his end of the deal. From what Anders had learned in between the few comments Mitchell had made during their meetings he was sure that he was one of the important ones. Mitchell seemed to have some sort of high rank in the vampire society that made it considerably easier for him to swing such a thing.

They had settled in a routine of meeting, feeding and getting each other off over the past three weeks which worked for Anders. Sure, Mitchell drank from him. He bit Anders’ vein and swallowed his blood, turning physically into what he actually was – a vampire, a blood-sucker, a creature with deadly fangs and black eyes. In short: the stuff of nightmares.

Of course Anders had been scared that Mitchell might just drink him dry. That he was kidding himself in offering the vampire a deal. A new form of assisted suicide, if you will, unattempted by Anders but still with an inevitable quality about it. Still, Anders had never brought a stake to their hook-ups. It wasn’t a sign of trust as such but after the stunt in the office and later in Mitchell’s apartment, Anders knew that the Irishman never took too much; if only because he couldn’t stomach it.

The upside of their whole arrangement was definitely Mitchell’s talent for driving Anders over the edge. Somewhere along the way Anders had started to actually enjoy the feeding beforehand – it made him a lot hornier than he’d like to admit. There was something uncanny and also primeval about it that appealed to his dark side. With Mitchell, there was no need for kinky toys – he _was_ the kink.

Still, Anders was curious. He hadn’t had the courage to talk to Mitchell about his reasons to provide cover for the Johnsons. There was the blood, obviously, and Anders could very much identify with an addiction. It had taken him a while to cut down his alcohol consumption to a reasonable amount after he had been hooked on the stuff they sold in Norway. But he wasn’t too sure that this was all there was. In a weak second, Anders had felt the need to actually talk to the vampire over a beer or two and learn more about him – just to discard this idea as ludicrous. He couldn’t allow anything else to play into their pact. Between them, it was strictly business, even though the line towards pleasure was more than blurred.

His phone buzzed. A text. From Mitchell. “Meeting. Your apartment. 1 hour.”

 

*****

 

When Anders returned to his apartment, Mitchell was already pacing in front of the locked door. Cigarette in one hand, the other playing nervously with a lighter he had put on a brooding look that gave Anders a general idea about what was going to happen. Despite having fed just three days ago, Mitchell looked downright sick. His skin was paler than usual; his reddish eyes were sunken in and his movements had an agitated quality to them. When he took a hasty drag from his cigarette, Anders could see that his hands were shaking slightly.

Without a word, Anders let them in. Mitchell bolted through the door and kept up his erratic pacing in the living room while Anders threw the keys on the counter and turned to his fish.

“Hello, guys,” he said quietly and tapped lightly against the glass. Behind his back he could hear Mitchell move about.

“Look, I know I’m not supposed to be here,” Mitchell started and ran his hands through his hair – a gesture that betrayed his driven feeling as Anders had noticed. _Damn right you’re not_. Seemingly unimpressed, Anders watched his fish swim their lines and hoped for a calming effect. There was no way this would go down smoothly. He got out the fish flakes and threw a couple into the water.

“I know it’s too early but I _need_ a fix.” For a moment, Anders actually considered rejecting the vampire. A deal was a deal, sure, but barging in on him like that was in bad taste. He didn’t appreciate being ordered around by anybody, especially not a blood addict vampire. This may be the first time Mitchell asked for an unscheduled feeding but who knows which road their arrangement might take if he concurred easily. He definitely wouldn’t be on call for Mitchell.

On the other hand, his behaviour didn’t seem like it came out of nowhere. Something must have triggered him. Maybe this was Anders’ chance to actually gain some real information about what and especially who he was dealing with.

“What happened?” Anders asked and closed the lid of the fish tank, turning to Mitchell.

“I met with Ivan. We had a... I think he... knows something is up. He’s suspicious.” The vampire’s eyes had taken on a broken look as he was staring at his hands, fiddling with the gloves.

Anders tensed up. That couldn’t be good. “Suspicious? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, we… I mean… he… ugh, I don’t know,” Mitchell was fighting with every word that left his lips and his hands joined in the struggle.

“Does that mean you won’t be able to keep up your side of the deal?” Anders asked sharply.

“It’s fine... I’ve got it under control.” Mitchell still avoided Anders’ eyes and continued to pace around the room.

Anders knew this kind of ‘I’ve got this’ tone. He himself had used it many times as a lie – it didn’t take Bragi to decode Mitchell’s words. He stared at the vampire and said seriously, “You make sure no one gets hurt.”

“Yes. Of course. It’s just…” Mitchell was closing his fists and Anders could hear the lighter’s plastic skin crunching, “It’s fragile, so fragile and I _need_ it, now. I’ll sort it out right after, I…”

Anders stared at the vampire disaster in front of him. Mitchell was squirming under some invisible weight. His teeth were grinding in his clenched jaw and already his eyes were switching between their human and vampire appearance with every other blink. The sight evoked a twisted kind of pity in Anders, the kind a dealer might feel before selling his addict another high.

Mitchell let out his breath in a desperate sigh. “I won’t take much, I give you my word. Just a tiny bit to get me back on track. Just a nip, a dash. I wish I didn’t have to but... it’s... I...” His pleading voice carried a hint of shame.

Anders kept a cold expression on his face. Mitchell’s intrusion still pissed him off royally but he didn’t have a choice, anyway – it was kind enough of Mitchell to not attack him right away. He had said that there were complications and if he needed blood to think through a strategy to protect Anders’ family then it had to be this way.

Something akin to a sob came out of Mitchell’s throat, “I’m sorry.”

He _apologized_? Anders was taken aback. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Mitchell had just pinned him down right then, given his condition. But this? _He respects you_ , a voice in his head whispered, _he knows it’s not right._

With a sharp nod, Anders indicated Mitchell to follow him into the bedroom where Anders started to undress himself down to his boxers. Mitchell watched him with lingering eyes, a clear bulge forming in his skinny jeans but without any movement to get rid of his own garments.

“You might want to dress down, too,” Anders said in a calm and business-like voice. After all, it was exactly this: an unscheduled business transaction.

Mitchell snapped out of his hypnotic state and complied with shaky hands. Dressed only in his jeans he came closer to Anders who could see his fangs, pearly white and deadly sharp. The vampire’s tongue was testing them impatiently; Anders could hear his breath leaving the lungs with a ragged sound.

“Not the neck,” Anders said, “thigh.”

He sat down on the edge of his bed and Mitchell dropped to his knees, searching out the vein on the god’s left side. Anders closed his eyes to the by now familiar feeling of Mitchell’s stubble grazing his skin, the flicking tongue that tested the spot and in anticipation of the one sharp bite that would give way to pleasure.

He was hard when Mitchell bit down. Anders bucked his hips a little and pressed his thigh closer to Mitchell’s greedy mouth. The deep growl from the vampire’s mouth reverberated through Anders’ body and he involuntarily moaned in arousal. His eyes stared at Mitchell between his legs whose now steady hands held his thigh in place. Fascinated, Anders watched the muscles in Mitchell’s broad back twist with every move he made.

Mitchell licked over the wound as if to seal it and came up between Anders’ thighs. Anders stared into his black eyes which were now accented with that peculiar ring of golden specks again. Framed by dark, wild curls, his fangs bared and lips still crimson with Anders’ blood Mitchell looked like a gothic painting. The light from the half-closed shutters gave him an angelic and sinister vibe at the same time that Anders couldn’t process. In his head, Bragi started to put Mitchell’s appearance into lines of dark, seductive poetry.

On instinct, Anders grabbed the vampire’s hair and pulled him close. He captured Mitchell’s lower lip lightly between his teeth and sucked, drops of his own blood wetting his mouth. The taste was salty and metallic and he thought how wrong this was, how utterly wrong when Mitchell’s tongue joined his and convinced him otherwise.

All thoughts of deals and consequences vanished from his mind as he relished Mitchell’s chilly touch. He felt the vampire’s hand stroking lightly over the wound on his thigh and Mitchell’s fingers came back red, smearing both their lips with Anders’ blood. Anders felt himself being pulled off the bed and down on Mitchell’s lap when their lips met, crashing together with force. It was messy, it was sloppy, it was all Anders could ask for in this moment. He felt Mitchell’s tongue licking, tasting and exploring his bloody lips and his mouth with an urgency that bordered on desperation, mirroring his own need for contact. Anders’ right was tugging at Mitchell’s hair, his left digging in his shoulder and pressing him closer. For just a second, Anders’ head was spinning – no doubt one of the consequences of Mitchell’s greedy feeding.

Anders trailed his tongue over the outline of Mitchell’s fangs and a dark growl and a thrust into his body showed him that he had struck gold. Mitchell ran his hands along Anders’ sides, his right stopping between his legs.

“No,” Anders whispered in a husky voice against Mitchell’s lips, “I want to see you touch yourself.”

Another teasing lick at Mitchell’s fang and Anders felt himself lifted up to the bed by strong arms. Mitchell himself didn’t join him but remained standing in front of the mattress, casually messing up his hair and giving Anders a view of his statue. The vampire’s torso was bare save for two dog tags. His broad chest, well-defined and emphasised by dark hair, gave way to a skinny waist. The jeans on his hips were held in place by a brown leather belt.

Anders drank in the sight of the other’s athletic built. Then, slowly and deliberately, Mitchell’s hands were undoing the belt buckle and let the worn-out leather straps fall down to his thighs. Anders watched in arousal how Mitchell lazily rubbed his erection through the jeans, taking his time and putting on a show for the god.

 

“You’re one for watching then?” Mitchell asked in a sultry voice. With a smug grin on his face he started to move his hips suggestively and in line with his hand caressing his cock. Anders could only stare as Mitchell’s hands reached the buttons of his trousers and opened them, one by one.

“Let me make sure you like what you see.” With this, Mitchell shook of his jeans and boxers and crawled onto the bed. He rested on his knees and sat back, his legs apart. His hair was hanging in his face as he bowed his head and shoulders in a submissive yet at the same time confident pose. Mitchell had chosen an angle at which Anders had the perfect view of his back line as well as his cock.

Anders definitely liked what he saw. “That’s right, spread your legs for me.”

His voice had become throaty and authoritative, startling Mitchell for a second. Then, a vicious grin appeared on the vampire’s face as he glanced at Anders. The blond saw how an excited gleam crawled into Mitchell’s expression, his tongue touching his fangs as he accepted Anders calling the shots.

“Wrap your fingers around your thick cock.” With long strokes, Mitchell worked his hands on himself in a leisurely pace. His cock was hardening further with every move.

“Faster,” Anders commanded in a dark whisper. He could see the muscles twist under Mitchell’s skin as his hands quickened in their motion and he obeyed with a low groan. The fact that Mitchell complied to _his_ speech, not Bragi’s, gave him a rush of excitement that went directly to his groin and he started to mirror Mitchell’s actions.

“Tell me what you think of.” Anders still spoke with a demanding tone but a seductive quality mixed into his cadence.

Mitchell’s answer came quick and low, sated with desire. “You.”

“Good. Think of me. Think of my tongue licking your hard nipples. Think of my hands on your thighs. Think of my mouth trailing down your chest and stomach.”

Anders’ voice was all him. The purring sound, the words – none of it was manufactured by Bragi. With gratification he heard Mitchell’s breathing become deeper; a sound that surged through him and left a tingling trail. For a second Anders considered carrying out his words but another look at Mitchell placed beautifully in front of him persuaded him to continue talking.

“Think of my lips and fingers on your cock.” Anders only offered rough descriptions but he knew from experience that this proved to be the most effective. _Always leave a little to the imagination_. His words resulted in panting sounds that left Mitchell’s lips and filled the bedroom, exciting Anders further.

“You’re beautiful, all hot and needy and hard for me,” Anders murmured. He couldn’t take his eyes off Mitchell. The blond’s pupils were fully dilated as he was taking in Mitchell’s flustered appearance which he had brought about solely with his words. He was mesmerized by the fluent movements that went through Mitchell’s entire body, from his groin to his flat stomach and into the muscular back. A piece of art that Anders was taking apart one by one.

“Think of my tongue running along your length. Think of me taking you all in. Feel my warm mouth and the slick wetness around your beautiful cock.” Mitchell groaned with need, his torso now slightly arching and his lids half-closed.

Anders smiled. “Not yet, sweetheart. You’ll come when I say.”

Mitchell shot Anders a wild glance. The black in his eyes seemed darker than night and the golden specks gleamed like supernovas, burning into Anders’ vision. His soul celebrated having the vampire at his mercy. He fed off Mitchell’s reactions, making it equally difficult for Anders to hold on.

“Think of my hands grabbing your arse and spreading your cheeks. Think of my fingers teasing your hole.” A slight whimper came out of Mitchell’s throat as he broke eye contact and his left made an attempt to carry out Anders’ words.

“No,” he stopped Mitchell in a suddenly strict voice, leaving all honey-like quality behind, “Leave your hands where they are.” Mitchell’s eyes darted open at the sudden change of tone and with obvious effort and a sound that may have been a Gaelic curse, he obeyed.

“Just imagine it.” The sweetness had returned to Anders’ voice. “Slow and sweet circles while my lips are still gliding up and down, licking and sucking.”

Mitchell’s hips were working together with his hands now; his thrusts became harder and Anders knew that the vampire wouldn’t last much longer. His own excitement grew with every word he uttered.

“Imagine how it feels when I push one finger inside you. When I add a second one and finger you open while my mouth is sucking you off.” Mitchell’s breath came ragged and his movements had lost their grace. Anders couldn’t get enough of this sight: Mitchell consisted of frantic, messy motions and a desperate need that radiated from every cell of his body.

“Come for me, darling.” At the sound of Anders’ whispered command Mitchell bit his lower lip and with a last hard push he did as he was told. Mitchell’s back arched in a series of sudden jolts, he threw his head back and long drawn-out moan left his lips which had Anders’ breath stuck in his throat.

He closed the distance to the vampire, who lay sprawled out on the mattress now, and sat on top of him. He claimed Mitchell’s lips in a bruising kiss and relished the taste of Mitchell’s mouth and his own masculine scent; a heady mixture that Anders found intoxicating.

He was still kissing the brunet and moving his hips when his vision became blurry. Tiny dots were moving about in Anders vision and he involuntarily started to sway despite being securely seated and held in place by Mitchell. Anders held on to Mitchell’s shoulders for support, closed his eyes for a second to regain his balance and took a deep breath.

“Are you okay?” Mitchell had stopped in his movements and looked at him in concern. His eyes had returned to their human appearance and the dark green was Anders’ new point of reference in the spin his vision was taking.

“Mhm…,” he mumbled and nodded, “just a bit weak… I’ll be alright in a second.”

“Don’t go around fainting on me,” Mitchell said and Anders could detect honest alarm under the rough growl, “I have taken too much, haven’t I?”

“’S’alright…,” Anders slurred, “jus’ need to lie down for a while…” Jesus, his head was spinning and his stomach joined in on this fun fair ride. This was not good, he thought and tried to get a grip which only resulted in his body tilting towards the mattress. He felt Mitchell’s arms in his back, the hands spread out so he could support Anders’ entire weight. “I… uh... I need to…”

“Anders!” An edge of panic had crept into Mitchell’s voice. He gently let Anders down on the cushions.

“You never say my name,” Anders mumbled and his eyes fluttered shut.

“Anders, don’t fall asleep now.” The intensity carried past Anders’ drowsy feeling but he could barely hold on to Mitchell’s phrase.

“But I’m tired, I’m… so... “ Anders could barely lift his eyelids and the rest of his body felt equally heavy. Getting a few words out seemed like an impossible task. All he wanted was to sleep, to drift away and rest for a year.

“I know, I know. But you have to stay awake for a bit longer, darling. We’ll get you fixed up in no time. I promise.” The interesting Irish drawl was the only thing that kept Anders from ignoring the insistent intruder to his blurry reality.

“’kay…”

 

*****

 

Mitchell had cupped Anders’ cheek and ran his thumb over the cheek bone, the other hand stroking his hair. The god’s skin was covered in a thin layer of cold sweat and his eyeballs were moving hectically under his closed lids. _Shit. This wasn’t supposed to happen_.

“Open your eyes, Anders.” Mitchell hoped that Anders would react to an imperative and another use of his name. It shouldn’t have come to this, he thought while fighting the panic that rose up in his stomach and made itself a home in his throat. What the hell should he do? Mitchell had never been in this situation – his partners either joined him as vampires or died before sunrise. With Anders, neither was an option. Mitchell continued to caress the god’s blond hair and softly tugged at it.

“Anders. Look at me.” Mitchell’s voice took on an authoritative sound and Anders lifted his lids ever so slightly to reveal his natural eye colour. The golden veil Mitchell had seen before had once more vanished, adhering to rules he did not yet understand.

“No need to be all bossy,” Anders drawled but obeyed the Irishman.

 _Thank fuck_. Mitchell let out the breath he had been holding unknowingly.

“Well done, cupcake, now keep those handsome blue eyes open for me, will you? I’ll just get you some water real quick.” Mitchell smiled at the god with as much conviction as he could muster.

“Mhm...” This wasn’t going to work, Mitchell thought and felt the panic returning. Anders was his responsibility. He couldn’t let the blond conk out on him, not with the things that had happened between them so far.

Mitchell tried to find a subject that would get Anders talking. _Knowing more about the guy would come in handy right about now_.

“Tell me about your powers. What can you do?” Mitchell shook Anders gently to get his attention and to his relief, the god kept his eyes open, if unfocussed.

“My voice bends mortals to my will,” Anders dragged his words but kept talking. It seemed to Mitchell that he was reciting an answer he had given many times but at this point, he took what he could get.

“That’s intriguing. Tell me more, how does that work? Don’t you have to be a fully charged Odin to pull that off?” Mitchell made his way to the door while keeping his eyes on Anders. His body on the sheets looked like a thrown ragdoll; an image that tore at the last bit of humanity Mitchell knew he had.

“I can do that now...,” as soon as Anders continued talking, Mitchell swiftly made his way to the kitchen.

“I don’t need Odin for that,” Anders went on when Mitchell filled a glass with water and rifled through the cabinets to find a piece of chocolate or something – _that is what you give people who are faint, right?_ Anders’ mumbled voice just about reached the kitchen.

“I’m the god of poetry. I don’t need my brother, the lord bloody Odin.” Mitchell stopped dead in his tracks for a second.

 _What_?

“God of poetry?” Mitchell repeated, not sure whether Anders was entirely out of it now or actually told the truth. He grabbed the glass of water and a chocolate bar he’d found and returned to the bedroom – just in time for Anders’ mumbled answer.

“Lord Bragi, at your service.” _Holy shit._ For a second, Mitchell simply stood there and stared, his status quo crumbling to pieces one word at a time.

“So you’re not Odin?”

“Uh-uh... I don’t wanna be... I... Axl... he tried to kill me...” _It can’t be._ Mitchell’s head was spinning from the implications Anders’ words brought up.

“You’re Bragi?” Mitchell asked in disbelief and placed himself back on the bed next to Anders. _But that would mean..._

“I want to sleep now, Mitchell, yeah?” Anders voice became even weaker and made Mitchell snap out of it. He looked at Anders’ worn face and couldn’t resist cupping his cheek with his free hand.

“I know, darling, but not just yet, you hear me?” Mitchell gave his voice a friendly ring and the singing cadence inherent in his Irish accent seemed to give Anders something to hold on to.

“I need you to eat this first and have a drink of water. Then you can sleep all you want. Can you do that for me?” Mitchell helped him sit up a bit and handed him the unwrapped chocolate bar. Anders nodded groggily and to Mitchell’s relief, he ate half of it and didn’t complain about the water either. _I’ll deal with the rest later_.

“Perfect, well done, Anders.” Mitchell made sure the god lay back on the mattress comfortably and covered him with a sheet. He still looked about as pale as Mitchell imagined his own skin colour would be but his breathing had become more regular and his muscles relaxed from what the vampire could tell.

“’anks, Mitch...” was the last thing Anders mumbled before drifting off in a deep sleep.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Anders is not Odin. The more Mitchell repeated the fact the less real it seemed, somehow."
> 
> They aren't exactly the most honest of all but it seems there is a need for a second negotiation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The part in italics is a flashback!

_John Mitchell was a bad liar. Even after over a century of rampaging, killing and betraying it didn’t come easy to him to make other people believe a made-up story. Maybe it was the face-to-face situation. The fact that you had to actually convince someone rather than simply threatening them. Act, if you will, pretend. Blame his catholic upbringing of the early 20 th century. Or maybe the vampirism: black eyes and a hissing sound through sharp fangs usually don’t need a lie to be effective._

_Ivan was shaking his head. “It must be the Johnsons. We have nearly checked off any other possibility on the list and came up empty handed.”_

_Mitchell sighed. Again he was in Ivan’s living room, an artistically designed glass in his hands that was filled with blood. Again they had that conversation. Only this time, Daisy was also present and the body count had increased._

_“I told you, Ivan. I checked like you wanted me to and it turned out they are minor gods. They can’t do anything special and they don’t know who the vessel of Odin is. They aren’t even interested.” Mitchell spoke slowly and dispassionate. This is how the truth sounded, right?_

_“Let’s kill them anyway._ _Just to be sure.”_ _Daisy’s eyes sparkled at the prospect of a good hunt. She sat on the sofa, cross-legged, the hem of her dress barely covering her thighs._

_“We can’t.” Mitchell took a sip from his glass and nearly grimaced at the taste. Human blood. How could he have lived off the stuff for so long? The flavour was somehow flat and lifeless – even if this was surely fresh. Ivan liked his little luxuries. Still, it clung to his throat with an uncomfortable texture. Anders tasted so much better, richer and overall more inten-…_

_“And why is that, Mitchell?” Daisy’s voice interrupted Mitchell’s thoughts and his head jolted up. Her tone had acquired an aggressive quality, challenging the brunet who stood opposite her. Ivan was busing himself with his drink and simply observed._

_Mitchell fully turned to Daisy, leaving Ivan in his back. “Because the body count would attract attention. Things have changed since the last time we met. In case you didn’t notice: your little escapade has made the headlines. You can’t kill another family. You were already pushing your luck with the first one.” Those lines were easier to deliver; all of that was a fact._

_“Then we stage it. Tragic gas leak.” Daisy’s hands were busy playing with the big rings on her fingers._

_“Would you stop? You know as well as I do that this is not the way to go.” Mitchell felt his annoyance grow. Daisy was charismatic, energetic and exciting – but also very impulsive, unfortunately._

_Ivan’s distinguished voice cut in, calm and detached. “And what would be the way to go, Mitchell?”_

_Mitchell let out a deep breath. “Proper research? Find out what they want? Why their blood is poisonous?” He rubbed his hand along his left temple where a headache started to tap lightly against his skull._

_Before Ivan could say anything, an incredulous laugh fell from Daisy’s lips. “Since when are you so cautious and… academic? Is Big Bad John losing his edge?” The last sentence was uttered with a provocative tilt of the head; her locks fell over her right shoulder._

Don’t let her provoke you _. Mitchell tried to focus on Ivan’s intellect, not on Daisy’s impulsiveness._

_“Since I don’t care for vampires to become common knowledge. I can’t believe I need to tell you of all people.” His gloved hands gestured towards Daisy in an annoyed motion. “There hasn’t even been an attack by Odin,” he glared at Ivan with furrowed brows, “and there is no indication that they will hunt us down. Or even want to.”_

_Ivan took a step towards Mitchell. “Of course they will. Once they’ve got their full powers at their disposal.”_

_“You don’t know that.” Mitchell bit his tongue and hoped that this last sentence didn’t sound as desperate in Ivan’s ears as it did in his own._

_A sly grin crept into Ivan’s lips and he leaned closer to the Irishman, now towering over him. “Power corrupts, Mitchell, just take a look at history. Or any member of this god forsaken batch called humanity. When they are mighty – even almighty, if you want to go that far – they won’t just stay home, watch The Real Hustle and crack open another beer.”_

_“Okay, maybe that’s the case. But I’m just saying we risk too much.” Easy on the defense, Mitchell thought and tried to lead the conversation away from individual gods and to general vampire concerns. He couldn’t let Ivan develop the slightest suspicion that he was sheltering Anders. And his family._

_Daisy leapt from the sofa and wrapped her arms around Ivan’s waist. “If you don’t kill the Johnsons I will.”_

_“No, you won’t. None of us will.” Mitchell glared at the couple and could feel the muscles in arms twitch nervously._

_Daisy gave him a suggestive look. “I promise I’ll leave you the pretty blond boy so you can finally get off on him. Finish what you started.”_

_Mitchell snorted and shook his head in disbelief. That’s the problem with couples, he thought indignantly, they share other people’s concerns too lightly._

_“Mitchell, what has gotten into you?” Mitchell saw in Ivan’s expression that he was actually curious. “If I didn’t know you better I’d take you for a traitor.”_

_The Irishman let out a short and cold laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous, Ivan.”_

_By then, the light tapping at his temple had become an insistent throbbing that put Mitchell more on edge than he was anyway. “I just don’t see a threat everywhere I go. Your anger is misled. There is no use in killing minor gods when you could take out Odin instead.”_

_He took another swig of the mediocre human blood; maybe it would keep the headache at bay and help him focus. “How about we lay low for a while? Send out a few spies, gather more information? You can hunt like you have before but you need to see that another dead family will shine an unwelcome light on us.”_

_“Oh Mitchell, you used to be so much fun…” Daisy pouted and seemed genuinely disappointed._

_“It’s not a game, Daisy,” he snapped with a hiss, “If you want fun go and drink a couple of scared college kids dry. The god stuff might mean war and we can’t risk that easily.”_

_Daisy let go of Ivan and came closer to Mitchell in a predatory movement. “But you risked it before. You and Ivan, you hunted the blond god.”_

_Mitchell’s hair fell into his eyes when he nodded. “This was when we thought he was Odin. But we were wrong. We’re back to square one. Can’t you see?”_

_Ivan brushed a non-existent speck of dust from his lapel and said, “I’m afraid Mitchell has a point, sweetheart.”_

_Mitchell suppressed a relieved sigh. If Ivan bought his story, Daisy would follow suit._

_“I say we cross off the rest of the list,” Ivan continued, “and if they all prove to be red herrings we return to the Johnsons.”_

_Mitchell could feel Ivan’s scrutinizing look on him and tried to remain relaxed. That would give him about a week, he figured. Before the mixture of relief and new tension could show in a tremble of his hands, he crossed his arms in front of his chest and nodded with a serious expression._

_“That’s the sensible thing to.”_

_The glass gave a dull sound when Mitchell put it down on the wooden couch table. “I’ll be off, then.” Daisy lazily waved and flopped herself back on the couch while Ivan lead him to the door._

_Mitchell’s head was throbbing, his pulse was jumping irregularly and he felt sweat on his forehead. Just a few steps and he could finally get out of that house. Leave Ivan’s stare behind. He knew that look just to well and it sure as hell didn’t mean anything good. But with a bit of luck he could maybe make it home and dig up some false information for Ivan before the word “traitor” became a concept attached to Mitchell._

_As Mitchell walked through the door, Ivan grabbed him by the collar of his black jacket. Ivan’s breath was tickling his ear when he whispered, “You better not have any ulterior motive you’re not sharing, Mitchell.”_

_The brunet felt Ivan’s cool lips press on his mouth for a second and before he could react, the older vampire had closed the door. Dizziness washed over Mitchell and he stumbled away from the house. With shaking fingers he fumbled his phone from his pocket._

_“Meeting. Your apartment. 1 hour.”_

*****

 

Mitchell stared at the fish in the tank. Whoever had claimed that this would have a calming effect on troubled minds had obviously never been faced with any kind of serious consequences. Ever. Mitchell followed the trail of a big goldfish and broke out in a growl. This was fucked up. He was sitting in his – what, blood bank? Dealer? Fuck buddy? – in Anders’ living room after having made sure he was okay with supplies and sweet words, now waiting for him to wake up.

To discuss his betrayal.

Mitchell let out a short and nearly hysteric laugh. Absurd, even for him.

The god’s blood had brought him back on track like he had hoped – all signs of withdrawal were gone and as promised, Mitchell hadn’t taken more. Considering the new course of events he was glad that he didn’t feel the otherwise coveted high. Still, concentrating proved to be difficult.

The waiting was the worst part. Mitchell had taken a shower and was now dressed again in his jeans and the black shirt. He had checked on Anders a few times and was relieved that he seemed to sleep easy. But after countless smokes and several cups of coffee he had helped himself to Anders was _still_ not showing any signs of waking up. Mitchell honestly considered poking him to get this over with but then again he had drunk from him after only a short recovery time.

The panic he had felt when Anders suddenly became dizzy startled Mitchell in retrospect. There was no way he could deny it; the feeling had been too strong and desperate to just ignore it or talk it down. Mitchell had felt like the god was slipping from him and that he had lost Anders for good – a thought that had scared him. _But that was only because of the blood_ , Mitchell tried to convince himself. Anders meant blood and amazing sex and nothing more. Nothing. A means to an end.

And he had betrayed him.

Anger washed over Mitchell as he paced around the living room. _The nerves on that man_. He flat out lied to one of the most powerful vampires around. He deceived him and bought his protection on account of false facts. _He must be either very stupid or extremely brave_ , Mitchell thought with knitted brows. In any case, he had underestimated Anders. When he wakes Mitchell would definitely question him about one thing or another.

His entire plan backfired. Bragi. Not Odin. The god of poetry, of all things. _Well, that definitely explains the dirty talk._ The memory of Anders’ voice commanding him burned through Mitchell’s body with unexpected intensity. It had been incredibly hot, the way Anders had taken him apart. The way he had made Mitchell get off by his own hands and the god’s – Bragi’s? – voice, just watching and observing with hungry eyes but never making an attempt to touch Mitchell.

The vampire had allowed Anders to be in charge and the reward had been higher than the investment. Mitchell wasn’t used to being the submissive part in any relationship. It was him who called the shots, who decided, who talked. The only person he had ever submitted to had been Ivan, long before he met Daisy. Ivan had been an exciting and cruel lover to Mitchell, bringing him over the edge in countless different variations, always in cool detachment. Their affair had been erotic and twisted beyond measure; they had lived out their darkest desires without shame. With Ivan, there had always been thrills but never safety. Mitchell had been bound to his voice and trusted him to some extent – still, he had never been certain that Ivan wouldn’t ask something of him he didn’t want to give or felt repulsed by one day.

With Anders, things had been different. Mitchell had felt... _secure_. Somehow he had trusted Anders who in return made sure that both of them enjoyed themselves. Without degradation of either a physical or verbal nature. From the moment Anders took control, Mitchell had been sure that this experience would be interesting and was willing to do as he was told.

Maybe this was the way Bragi worked. Maybe he had that effect on Mitchell.

 _Enough_ , Mitchell told himself and drew his thoughts away from sex with effort, _focus on the important thing. He betrayed you and treason is punishable by death._

A second later he shook his head in agitation and tried to lay out the facts in a desperate attempt to make sense of the situation.

Of course he wouldn’t kill Anders. The whole point was keeping him alive in the first place, to bind him and his blood to Mitchell. But he didn’t need to know that.

 _Anders is not Odin_. The more Mitchell repeated the fact the less real it seemed, somehow.

The direct consequence was that Mitchell had told Ivan the truth. Unbeknowst, granted, but still.

 _It’s not him, Ivan._ His own words crept up on Mitchell and slowly, the implications of this... this hell of a mess dawned on him. It would have been fine if Anders hadn’t lied: Mitchell would have kept Odin from Ivan until he had killed some random, cocky god who had failed to shake Ivan’s doubt. Once Ivan had moved on to other things Mitchell would have easily continued to keep up his side of the deal. Without Ivan in the picture any longer, Anders’ family would have been safe and Mitchell would have continued to feed from Anders regularly. He would have had the god – the god’s blood – all to himself.

But there was no helping it: what was done was done.

By pretending it’s not Anders Mitchell thought he had manoeuvred Odin out of the danger zone. And with that, he had made it easier for Ivan to seek out the real Odin and kill Anders by extension. Busy doing Ivan’s work for him, crossing out another possibility.

_Just like the old days._

__

Bitter and annoyed, Mitchell fumbled for his pack of cigarettes and found that there were only two left. He lit one, let the smoke pass from between his lips and sucked it back in through his nostrils. He sighed and stared at the glowing tip of the cigarette when he heard the shower run.

*****

Mitchell had positioned himself on a barstool by the counter when Anders came into the living room. He was wearing only boxers, his hair was still wet and Mitchell noted a few drops of water running down his throat and into his chest hair. He seemed awake and steady on his legs, no sign of the earlier weakness was left.

Surprised, Anders raised an eyebrow. “You’re still here.”

“We have a few things to discuss,” Mitchell said in a serious voice.

“You wanna go another round? I’m up for it.” Anders was completely unaware of the vampire’s driven state. He winked at Mitchell and fixed himself a glass of orange juice. For a second, Mitchell considered saying yes – if only to see Anders’ reaction, how far he would go and not because of the tell-tale tingle that made his way into his pants.

He cleared his throat. “I was thinking more along the lines of names and titles. You see, Mitchell is my last name. John Mitchell. Son, brother, vampire since World War I.”

He bowed his head slightly as to introduce himself formally. The gesture remained cold, though, the look in his eyes rigid from keeping his rage under control. “And you are, apparently, Anders Johnson, vessel of Bragi, god of poetry. Brother to Axl Johnson, vessel of Odin.”

Mitchell closely watched Anders’ reaction to his words. The god huffed slightly and his playful appearance vanished.

“So that wasn’t a dream, then.” Anders opened the freezer and took out a bottle of vodka, pouring a generous amount into his juice.

“Not one bit.” Mitchell ground his teeth into the silence that ensued. Anders avoided his eyes and took a long swig from his glass and sat down, not making any attempt to answer.

Mitchell stood up and placed his gloved hands flat on the counter, bringing himself closer to Anders. “I should kill you.” His voice was a gravelly whisper. “I should kill you for lying to me.”

Anders looked up and focussed Mitchell, his eyes the colour of steel. “I wasn’t lying. I just didn’t resolve your misunderstanding.”

“You used it to your own advantage!” Mitchell snapped and in between two blinks, his eyes turned black. Just a little reminder. _How dare he, the little shit_.

Anders held his gaze and seemed unimpressed by Mitchell’s outburst. He took another casual sip of his drink and replied, the smugness ringing in Mitchell’s ears, “To quote every villain ever: ‘we’re more alike than you think’.”

In a heartbeat, Mitchell had moved around the counter and stood in front of Anders in a position that allowed him to easily lunge forward. “You betrayed me. I should just drink you dry. Every little drop of your lousy blood. I should dump your body in the river.“

All ease vanished as the blond pushed himself off the chair. Ander’s mouth twisted and with a nasty snarl he spit out, “Then do it. Just stop fucking talking about it. This is what, the third time now you spell it out for me?”

Mitchell saw Anders’ mask slip but didn’t expect anger to be revealed underneath. The vampire could see the blond’s muscles twitch under his skin, impatient to release anger physically. “Save everyone a fuckton of trouble and get it over with. Just don’t stand there with that brooding look on your face. Trust me, it’s not the last thing I want to see.”

Anders’ fit of rage calmed Mitchell’s own anger in return, replacing it with curiosity. How can someone be this fierce faced with a threatening vampire?

“You don’t value your life at all, do you?” Mitchell tilted his head in genuine question.

“What gave it away?” Anders was talking loudly and in a sharp tone now. Aggression emerging from every pore distorted his handsome face. “Huh? The alcohol or... well, I don’t know... the fact that I _let you drink from me_?” His words were lashing out like strikes.

Mitchell was stunned for a second. He didn’t expect Anders to be aware of the extend of self-harm that went together with their arrangement. Wasn’t his family the main reason why he had agreed? A somewhat positive objective rather than self-punishment? _Here comes the dark side of Anders Johnson_ , Mitchell mused, the prospect kindling his interest.

Mitchell stayed where he was but eased up his posture a little, giving Anders more room to react. “But you value your family’s lives.” It was a simple question, wrapped in a statement. An attempt to understand this strange god and even stranger man in front of him.

“Are you threatening me?” Anders hissed and something akin to hate crawled into his eyes. Were he a vampire, Mitchell thought, his eyes would be black and his fangs mere inches away from his jugular.

The brunet flashed him a dark smile and moved back to sit on his bar stool to resolve the tension. A fight would not change a thing about their situation.

“To be honest, I’m curious. You’re an unusual person, Anders Johnson.”

Mitchell saw how Anders’ tense muscles relaxed as he accepted that Mitchell wasn’t a threat. The blond’s fists opened and with a deep breath he sat back down.Another silence, another held gaze. Mitchell could feel how Anders – or rather Bragi – tried to assess his words and make sense of them.

“Is that why you took such good care of me back there?” The blond nodded to the bedroom.

Mitchell hesitated and narrowed his eyes. He couldn’t detect any trace of sarcasm colouring Anders’ question; only seriousness. _Where is this going?_

“One of the reasons.” He tried to sound vague and casual but even in his own ears the attempt failed.

“Thank you.” Anders’ voice was quiet, still the words were pronounced clearly and with an honesty that startled Mitchell. He wasn’t used to being thanked – not anymore. Human Mitchell had been one for helpfulness – ‘Big Bad John’ didn’t give out kindness. These two simple words falling from Anders’ lips made something in him shiver.

He nodded, quickly and abrupt in acknowledgement. For another moment, the ghost of Anders’ thanks lingered between them.

“So,” Anders turned to the cupboard and got out a shot glass, “you might be right. We do have a few things to discuss.”

He set the glass on the counter, filled it with vodka and slid it towards Mitchell. It moved smoothly over the counter’s surface and landed safely in Mitchell’s hand, not one drop spilled on the black gloves. Then he topped up his own glass and sat opposite the vampire.

“Yes, I am Bragi. Axl, my younger brother, is Odin. I’m the vessel for the god of poetry which means I can manipulate mortals with my voice. And apparently, vampires too. For a short amount of time.”

“Did you ever use it on me?” Mitchell’s voice did not betray the unease he felt. Not only the fact that Anders may have been playing him like a puppet on a string weirded him out; the very possibility that he hadn’t noticed made it all the worse.

“No. Just your mate, Ivan.”

Mitchell nodded, relieved. “Does your family know about our deal?”

Anders slowly spun his glass in his hand and stared at the clear liquid for a moment of hesitation. “No.”

He drew his gaze from the glass and looked Mitchell in the eyes. A brokenness seemed to linger behind the clear blue. “And they are not planning anything. I know you don’t believe me but we don’t want to take over the world or some such crap.”

“Why are you looking for Frigg, then?” Mitchell was careful to give his voice an interested sound rather than a challenging one as to not upset Anders.

“Because we want to survive. Without her, as you know, Odin is vulnerable and if he kicks the bucket all of us are done for. That’s all there is to it.” The last sentence came as a sigh. The sigh of a man who knows he’s telling the truth and cannot do any more than repeat it.

Mitchell considered Anders’ words carefully. “But you would have full access to your powers.”

Anders shrugged in an indifferent manner. “Maybe. Maybe not. Hell, no one knows anything in particular anyway. It’s also possible that we just lose the god spirit and have a shot at being normal, finally. My family might be a bit thick and stubborn at the best of times but let me tell you this: no one aims at world domination. There is no fucking way any of us would pick a feud with vampires or any other kind of supernatural entities.”

 _He is telling the truth_ , Mitchell realised. Ivan had it all wrong. There was no attack on their kind, no conspiracy. Until this point, Mitchell had been doubtful about either version of the state of the nation. Hunting with Ivan had been the part of the plan he’d jumped at so readily but now... In the weeks since their arrangement, Anders would have slipped up if there was something to keep secret, Mitchell thought, if only a few hours ago when he was all groggy from the feeding. But no, nothing.

“Okay.” The vampire nodded in understanding.

“’Okay’?” Anders’ voice nearly cracked, “You finally believe me?”

“Yes. I don’t see why you would lie at this point.” Mitchell could see how a hopeful gleam appeared in Anders’ eyes.

“My turn,” Anders said, “What happened with Ivan?”

Mitchell’s eyes took on a worried look. Now it was him who fiddled with the glass in front of himself.

“He’s getting restless. It was a mistake that you kept your... god-identity from me. You’re lucky everyone is alive and kicking.” Mitchell spoke calmly now. “By striking the deal with you I thought I had an eye out on the actual Odin. To keep Ivan from you.”

“Are you saying that you only focussed on me?” Mitchell could tell from his wary tone of voice that the god realised how corrupt and dishonest they both had been when coming to their arrangement.

“Not entirely. Since I wouldn’t let Ivan kill you I figured your people would be safe, being bound to Odin’s life and all that. I told Ivan your family consisted of minor gods. It worked but now... He nearly sought out everyone who might be Odin and came up empty. Obviously, why would anyone pretend to be Odin when faced with Ivan... Anyway, his interest is slowly returning to your family. I told him I had this covered and he trusts me but... there’s no knowing how long I can keep him off your track.” Mitchell lifted the glass and took a sip.

“You have to distract him. Or give him some sort of alternative.” Anders had apparently given up on the hope that Ivan simply believed him like Mitchell had.

“I know. I will.” _For all of us_ , Mitchell thought and added, “You need to tell your family.”

Anders laughed in disbelief. “I don’t think so.” With a brisk motion, he brought his glass to his lips and knocked back the drink.

“Why?” Mitchell drew his eyebrows together in a questioning and astonished expression.

“That’s none of your concern,” came the cold answer that warned him not to insist further.

“Anders, you have to let them know.” Mitchell leaned over the counter towards the god, “We cannot rely on my influence on Ivan alone. Vampires take things into their own hands if they must and Ivan... he is clever and relentless. Your family must be warned that he might show up on their doorstep. So that they can prepare themselves.”

The intensity in his voice was dismissed by Anders with a determined shake of the head. “We’re not exactly on the best of terms.”

 _You gotta be kidding_. Brother rivalries or what the ever loving fuck was going on in the Johnson’s household just _couldn’t_ play a part in this, Mitchell thought.

“Mate, you’ve got to get over your little quarrels if you want to stay alive.”

“Little quarrels?” Anders shot him an angry look. Mitchell saw the artery on his throat beat hectically when he hissed, “Fuck you, Mitchell, my brother tried to kill me. You know _nothing_ about us.”

Immediately, Mitchell lifted his hands in an appeasing gesture. They had worked so hard to come to this place of honesty. _Tread lightly_ , he reminded himself, _we’re walking on thin ice_.

“You’re right. I don’t. But I see how you give your blood for their protection and I’m thinking this is the kind of thing a family wants to know.”

Anders shook his head again and through gritted teeth he said, “This is not for you to decide. You don’t know my motives.”

“And we don’t need to discuss them if you don’t want to.” At that, Anders threw him an intense look and Mitchell saw how he reluctantly accepted this peace offering with a slight nod.

Encouraged, Mitchell went on. “Anders, I’m not trying to barge in on anything. I’m trying to help you. Help _us_. We’re on the same page here. Think about the bigger picture.” His fingers had started to drum on the glass in his hands. The rings he was wearing under the fingerless gloves hit the surface with every other motion and filled the living room with unsteady sounds.

“I told them about the attack.” The defeated expression in Anders’ voice let Mitchell stop his drumming.

“It’s not enough.” He could tell that this conversation didn’t go too well and made sure to give his voice a tender timbre. “They must to know everything, Anders. To keep you- to keep your family safe.”

Anders grabbed the vodka bottle and refilled his glass once more. “I’d rather leave things how they are. No one has to wrap their head around anything, nobody gets killed, everyone lives, we ride off into the sunset, yay.”

“That’s not how it works.” _It never does_ , Mitchell added silently and with a grim feeling.

“So I should tell them about you, then? About our deal?” Anders nodded at Mitchell in challenge yet without conviction. His face seemed tired now; he slouched as if his frame couldn’t support his being any longer.

When Mitchell answered, his tone was soft and earnest. “It’s a noble thing you’re doing.”

“Yeah, I’m a fucking hero.” Anders paused and Mitchell briefly wondered why the god insisted on selling himself short. “Why are you so sentimental all of the sudden?” Blue eyes focussed on him. “You get your blood fix whether I tell them about the deal or not.”

The vampire hesitated. _Why indeed_. “Because I meant it when I said you were unusual.”

“Right. Whatever.” Anders chuckled without any trace of humour. He rubbed his face with a wired and distracted motion. “Fine. I’ll tell them to be prepared. Maybe they can come up with a better idea.”

This was more than Mitchell had hoped for at the beginning of this discussion. He nodded and finished his drink.

“Let me know how it goes.” The vampire stood up and looked at Anders who had started to fiddle with his glass again. He seemed so vulnerable, bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders.

For a moment, Mitchell was flooded with the urge to _do_ something. Kiss Anders good-bye. Or hug him. Run his fingers through the golden hair, soothe him. Or just squeeze his bare shoulder. Mitchell’s hand was already halfway raised when he realised the absurdity of it. _He’s not your lover_. To gloss over the awkward movement – for himself and in case Anders had seen it from the corner of his eye – his hand wound up in his hair, tousling his own curls. _Yeah, real smooth, John._

“Will do,” Anders answered deep in thought and stayed put.

Another nod and Mitchell left the apartment, fumbling his last cigarette from the pack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on holiday for the next two weeks so there won't be an update in this time... 
> 
> Thank you all for reading, commenting and kudos! 
> 
> You're a lovely bunch of people. Thanks for making a newbie feel welcome in the Britchell corner :) x


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Difficult family-meeting ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I'm back home and I brought you all a new chapter with a lovely Anders illustration by ConsultingFili!
> 
> Thanks for your charming comments and most of all for your patience. I appreciate that very much :) You won't have to wait that long for the next update, I assure you. 
> 
> This chapter is a little darker than the previous ones so please be extra careful if you're triggered by the following  
>  **  
> **  
> \- mention and discussion of suicide  
>  \- mental illness (hallucinations/delusions)  
> \- self-harm/glorification of wounds  
> \- alcohol abuse
> 
> Here it goes...

The meeting took place in Mike’s bar. A quick look at his watch told Anders that he had another ten minutes to spare before their family crisis summit was officially called. Bristol’s washed out grey scale made Anders feel nearly invisible in his suit of the same colour. He was walking towards the bar, or rather strolling – he only had a few blocks left that separated him from a very awkward opening speech. How do you breach the subject that you’re playing blood bank to protect your family?

Anders had considered not going through with telling his family. He was more than happy that they hadn’t crossed paths in a while. Granted, his life hadn’t become easier with the absence of his brothers’ constant problems and issues. If anything it has skyrocketed on the adventure scale but to Anders it was still a better course than dealing with his family. There was always the chance that Axl would attack him once more and while Mitchell was after his blood, he at least didn’t want Anders dead and tried to make it as… rewarding for the god as possible. No, one near-death or rather actual-death-experience had been enough for Anders’ taste.

His mind provided a thousand charming alternatives to spend the afternoon (one of them even included staying at the office) but against better judgement, Anders turned the last corner before arriving at the bar. From afar he could already make out the colourful glass panels.

He had promised Mitchell. Somehow, this fact wore heavy on his mind.

The moments before he had passed out during their last meeting were still a blur to Anders but he recalled that Mitchell had been so attentive and, well, kind. The vampire could’ve just made a dash for it, leaving Anders unconscious and vulnerable on his bed. It could’ve been hours until he had recovered without Mitchell’s help and in which state Anders didn’t want to imagine.

Instead Mitchell had cared for him. Made sure that he was okay.

Anders couldn’t help but be touched by the gesture. This had definitely been a first: normally, when he drank himself in a stupor for instance, no one was there to look after him. No one gave a damn whether he awoke in the morning. No one wondered how he got glass stuck in his hands, staining his couch in red blossoms. His acquaintances didn't deal in kindness.

Mitchell had even tucked him in and had caressed his hair. His whispered sweet words had given Anders something to hold on to through the dizzy spell instead of leaving him tumbling into unconsciousness. Anders had felt… secure, he believed was the right word. The ghost of a long forgotten sentiment.

He sighed and took another long gulp from his silver flask. Unknown territory.

“It’s a noble thing you’re doing.” The vampire had appeared serious and honest when he had said those words – and Anders felt haunted by them. Was it? He didn’t claim to be an expert on noble behaviour and Mitchell probably wasn’t either. But this simple sentence had struck something in him.

For the fraction of a second he had actually believed Mitchell.

Maybe he was right, Anders thought, maybe it was noble.

Sure, he was dependent on Axl’s survival but then again he was paying for it. With every drop of blood that ended up on Mitchell’s sensual lips Anders hoped to repay a debt and atone for his affair with Gaia without an admission of guilt. And if they knew then maybe, just maybe, a tiny bit of support would come from his family. An idea as to how to go on and resolve this mess of a situation.

 

*****

 

“That is ridiculous,” Axl said and crossed his arms in front of his chest in a defensive gesture, “why would anyone think you’re Odin?”

Anders crooked an eyebrow. “Thanks a lot but that’s not exactly the point.”

The family was grouped around the bar counter, Axl and Ty sitting on the stools with Mike and Anders facing each other. Olaf had claimed the couch. He was stoned out of his mind, as per usual, and that fact made Anders uneasy. He had hoped for Olaf to be able to follow a coherent conversation – so that he could back him up with stories and lore about vampires should the rest of the Johnsons laugh in disbelief. After all, Olaf was still the authority in questions of a supernatural nature, despite his excessive consumption of recreational drugs.

At least Mike had offered each of them a beer which Anders counted as a friendly gesture.

“So they are hunting us?” Ty asked in a worried tone, “Is that what you’re trying to say?” He was busy ripping the label off his bottle and looked at Anders with his usual sad puppy eyes.

“It’s the truth. They attacked me but I could escape.” Anders tried to sound as matter-of-factly as he could. It was in no one’s best interest to get to the brotherly fighting right away. That would happen soon enough, he was sure, but he wanted to get his point across before the accusations started to rain down. It was almost sad that he could predict the meeting’s course that way, he thought.

Ty still seemed anxious but there was interest showing in his eyes. “How do you know all this?”

He knew about the attack since Anders had called him that fateful night; he was pretty sure that Ty had passed the message on to the rest of the family as Anders had requested. The Odin-confusion, however, was news to all of them.

“One of them came by my office the other day.” Anders took a sip from his bottle.

“And what happened?” Mike asked impatiently and stared at his brother. No question of well-being, no concern for Anders’ state of mind and health. He briefly wondered if Mike would be worried if he could see the bite marks Mitchell had left. No, he decided and the realisation hit him like a slap in the face. All Mike ever wanted was the story.

Yet, maybe that didn’t cancel out the prospect of Mike offering help to Anders, however grudging the gesture might be. They were as different as two people can be but at the end of the day they were related by blood.

The image of Mitchell’s white teeth coated in crimson flickered through Anders’ brain and before it could stick he answered Mike’s question.

“He let slip that they were after killing Odin.”

At that, Axl jumped off the barstool he had been sitting on and pointed his finger at Anders. “And you told them you’re Bragi and that I’m Odin. And now they’re on my trail instead of yours!”

“No, you moron.” Anders took a deep breath and tried to calm his anger at Axl’s assumption. _Obviously the first thing that came to mind is betrayal_ , he thought indignantly, _how’s that for brotherly love_.

“Axl, I didn’t turn you on. I told him nothing.” Anders stared at his younger brother, looking for a sign that he understood. That he grasped how instead of offering up Axl, Anders had dealt with the situation on his own.

No word of thanks left Axl’s lips. Instead, Mike said with an edge to his voice, “I’ll ask again: what happened?”

“ _Nothing_ happened,” Anders said sourly, “he was just on one of those villain-talk trips and didn’t actually do anything.”

This was a bad idea. Their meeting had just started and already Anders fell back into his old role of being the accused. Why was he the one to defend himself? He hadn’t done anything wrong. In fact, he had handled the situation the best way possible, considering. Not only so he would come out on top but with regard to the other Johnsons’ safety. Anders took another mouthful of his beer and felt it react with the vodka in his blood.

“He just announced that he wants to kill Odin and left?” Incredulous, Mike huffed and turned to Axl in conspiracy. They shared a look that Anders couldn’t really place – that surely wasn’t good. Anders cleared his throat to regain their attention.

“Pretty much, yes.” The fact that a blowjob was involved was probably nothing they wanted to know, Anders thought without any particular humour.

Axl shook his head so determined that his shoulders took up the movement. “You’re making this up.”

Anders threw up his arms and to create more room for himself. “No! For fuck’s sake, I’m not. I’m trying to warn you ungrateful bunch of pricks.” Agitation was crawling up on him and he could barely keep his teeth from grinding audibly.

There was no use in all of this, he thought, his family wouldn’t help him. He was alone with his deal and cunning Ivan on his heels – he had brought all this about so he was the one to fix it like it had always been. No _He’s not heavy, he’s my brother_ moment, only ever _Anders fucked it up again_.

“Oh, well cheers for that,” Mike sneered. “We really appreciate this piss poor excuse of a warning. Tell me, why would vampires be interested in us?”

He positioned himself in front of Anders in that older-brother way he hated so much. Crossed arms, head tilted and ready to ridicule anything that came out of his mouth. A challenge in human form.

“Fuck knows!” Anders jerked his chin forward and glared at Mike. “I’m only here to give you the message. I know as little about vampires as you do. Olaf, anytime you’re ready.” Without much hope, Anders turned around, only to see Olaf’s long legs dangle over the armrest of the ragged sofa, softly swinging in tune with a light snoring.

Axl came closer to Anders and towered over him with his arms crossed in front of his chest. “Right. Except I don’t believe you. You only want to make yourself important so I’ll forgive you.”

“What?” In disbelief, Anders furrowed his brows and leaned towards Axl, not giving up a fraction of his ground. He wouldn’t be talked down by his little brother and his petty hurt feelings.

“Mate, are you shitting me? I hate to break it to you but it’s not all about you and your ridiculous heartbreak episode. This is way bigger than our little quarrel about Gaia. Can’t you see this?” _Little quarrel_? In the back of his mind Anders realised he had used Mitchell’s phrasing that had pissed him off so much.

He could see the vein on Axl’s forehead pulsate in anger and went on, “Besides, I’m not looking for forgiveness from you. I’m as much the victim here as you and Gaia. Only that no one seems to acknowledge that little fact because it would be fucking inconvenient, wouldn’t it.”

Before Axl had the chance to answer and take the discussion to a physical level Mike stepped between them. As if to underline the truth of Anders’ last statement he said with an eyebrow crooked in annoyance, “Vampires hunting us? Anders, c’mon, this is bullshit.”

“Fine, whatever.” Anders felt his throat tighten with anger and worst of all, disappointment. “Get yourself attacked for all I care.”

He was in over his head. Couldn’t anyone see that? He wanted them to notice, to offer help. For all his talk of deals and consequences Anders was barely holding on to the mess he got himself into. A deal struck out of necessity and panic with an amount of self-harm not to be underestimated and still, _still_ no one acknowledged his doing. No one but Mitchell.

Anxiety was rising in Anders’ stomach and made him feel dizzy. The deal with Mitchell was only a fraction of the complex chaos that his life had become in a matter of weeks. He could handle Mitchell alright but what if the vampire lost Ivan’s trust? Anders didn’t exactly know how dangerous Ivan was but he had a pretty good feeling that he was some sort of authority. He remembered Ivan’s distinguished voice and brutal grip very well – just like the disgusting helplessness he had put Anders in.

Anders threw those fears into his words where they transformed into an angry hiss. “Just don’t come crying to me when they start to suck on your bloody throat. And I mean that literally.”

“Anders…” Ty tried to calm down the heated discussion but before he could add anything to his brother’s name Anders took a step back and gestured with his beer bottle. His movements were still fluent but the alcohol started to get to his head, intensifying his anger and desperation and creating a dangerous mixture.

“I’m serious! No one in this family so much as _looks_ at me these days. It’s like I’m the fucking anti-christ. It’s so easy to blame me for all of this, isn’t it? Just blame it all on Anders, why don’t we! The god who can’t keep it in his pants, the god of manipulation, the god who has the least redeemable qualities of all of us! But you know what? You’re pathetic.”

As Anders spat out the insult he could feel his mind run away with the idea. All the pent-up anger came pouring out of him and for once he didn’t direct it at himself. No self doubt clouded his impression and he went on, “You’re just as bad as me, even more so because you don’t have the fucking guts to own up to it. You blame all your failures on me. What do you tell yourself at night to help you sleep? That I’m your bad influence? How very fucking convenient. But have you considered what that makes you? I see all of you prancing on the fucking moral high ground yet none of you ever takes responsibility for anything but petty shit.”

Anders was grabbing the bottle with force now and with half a mind he imagined smashing it on the floor and then trashing the rest of this wretched bar with his bare hands. Break the windows whose colourful twinkle seemed to mock him. Pour out every drop of alcohol and burn the fucking place down.

“I’m not looking for approval anymore. It’s fucking hopeless. I don’t even know why I’m going through the trouble of warning you. You’re so used to doubting me that you wouldn’t even believe me if I dragged the bloodsucker here by his fucking collar!”

At that, he grabbed his tie as to illustrate his words. “But let me tell you that I did take responsibility for this family. I offered my blood to a fucking vampire so your sorry asses won’t be hunted.”

Mike had stared blankly during Anders’ rant but snapped out of his stagnation at these words. “You what?”

With gratification, Anders saw consternation grow in Mike’s expression. _That’s right. Let that sink in for a second_.

“I signed a deal with one of them,” Anders said smugly as he enjoyed the looks of horror his brothers exchanged.

Axl’s reaction was more of a statement than a question. “With a monster.”

 _He’s not a monster. He’s more human than you._ Before Anders could voice the offense he took at degrading Mitchell Ty cut in.

“What kind of deal?” He furrowed his brows.

“The kind that ensures you can still breathe,“ Anders scoffed. _Let’s see what they make of it_. If they had the capacity to understand his situation and sacrifice now would be the time to live up to it.

“Good.” Axl nodded aggressively towards Anders, “You owe me, mate, that’s the least you can do. Keeping me alive.”

An almost hysteric laughter climbed out of Anders’ throat. It was hopeless. Here he stood, telling them about the deal. His way of showing his brothers that he cared. And it all came down to debts and repayments. Anders hissed and for a second he wished he had fangs like Mitchell’s.

“I don’t owe you shit. I’m not dancing to your tunes.” His words were sharp and he hoped they would cut right through Axl. “I don’t want your forgiveness and the deal is surely no acknowledgement of guilt.”

Axl only stared at him. “What is it, then? Huh? Further selfishness? Cause if I go down, you go down?”

“You dare call me selfish? I’m hanging on to my very life every time the vampire feeds from me. Have you got any idea how much of a fucking trauma that is? He _bites_ me. He lives off my blood. This is not a fucking blood donation, all clinical and clean. It’s messy, it’s painful. And I do that for you. How’s that for selfishness?” Anders was shouting now, the alcohol surging through him brought back the darker aspects of his deal with Mitchell he thought he had shaken. He felt a distinct throbbing on the spots he knew were marked up by Mitchell, unsure whether he imagined it or if they actually responded to his anger.

Anders snarled at Axl, came closer and continued, “Brother mine, you’re one to talk. It’s not my fault Idunn and Bragi found each other before you found Frigg. ‘Cause if you cheated on Gaia with your godly beloved that would be something _entirely_ different, wouldn’t it? Self-righteous arsehole.”

Axl’s anger was clearly visible on his face now, his fists were clenched. Anders made another step towards his brother, prepared to punch him in the goddamn throat. The next thing he felt was Mike’s arm blocking him across the chest.

“Calm down, the both of you!”

Anders grabbed Mike’s arm and shook it off.

“How? Tell me, Mike.” In a loud voice he went on, “I give my blood _for_ my blood and all you do is fucking laugh in my face.”

This time, Axl shot Mike the strange look that held some information Anders could not decipher. _I don’t feel left out enough, is that it?_

“Seriously, _brothers_ ,” Anders spat out the word like it was poison, “what the fuck is wrong with you? Maybe I should just let him kill you, all of you. Be done with it for good.”

Axl snorted at the suggestion. “You’d die, too.”

“I know. Not a bad prospect, considering.”

To his own surprise, Anders meant it. What was it all good for, anyway? They were marked, _he_ was marked, literally. And all he had achieved was a temporary solution. _There’s no way out_ , Anders thought with sudden clarity, _we’re living on borrowed time. This will go awry one way or another_.

Ty looked honestly disturbed by his outburst. “Anders, you can’t be serious.” He lifted his right as if to touch Anders but at the last moment he bailed.

“How would you know?” Anders let out a short laugh and mussed up his hair with a frantic move of his right hand. “Or even better: I sacrifice myself.”

Warming himself to his audience Anders turned to Axl in an exaggerated move. “Axl, what do you say? My death as atonement for your hurt feelings. How does that sound? Huh?”

Axl only stared at him, all aggression gone and his eyes bewildered. “You’re fucking crazy.”

“Am I? Isn’t that what you wanted?” Anders enjoyed this little moment of flirting with death in a perverse way. There were no complications in stasis.

“None of that makes any sense.” Axl grabbed another bottle of beer and walked around the bar towards the stairs. “In fact, I don’t believe any of it.” He stomped up the steps and muttered once more, “You’re fucking crazy, mate.”

“Suit yourself!” Anders shouted after him with the sinking feeling that he did not win that round. For now, he only had to deal with Mike; Ty had been sitting in the exact same spot for a while now and simply witnessed the scene. At least he’s not actively against me, Anders thought and turned to Mike.

“So that leaves only us. What does the big kahuna say?”

For a moment, Anders’ sarcastic remark hung heavy over the situation and with every second the taste it left became staler.

Finally, Mike looked at him from under furrowed brows. “I think you’re drunk and confused and guilt-ridden.”

The sudden change of tone into a serious direction went unnoticed by Anders. “Oh yeah?”

Mike took a deep breath and lifted his hands in a gesture of appeasement. “Look, I know these past weeks have been hard on you. Helen’s death, the deal with Gaia… it has been hard on all of us, too. And we’re trying to pull ourselves together. But we can’t do that for you. You need to make an effort.”

 _Apparently saving my family from vampires like Ivan isn’t considered an effort_. Mike’s words held the very problem of their relationship, Anders suddenly understood. In his heart, he knew it was useless to try and make him understand. The small window of opportunity had been closed quite early in the discussion – there was no way to change that now.

Unknowingly, he adapted Mike’s tone. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Mike grew very calm and looked him in the eyes. “You need help, Anders.”

 _This is why I’m here_ , Anders thought desperately. “Yeah, from my family.”

“No.” Another intense look from Mike. “We can’t do that for you.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Anders’ throat closed and he swallowed hard.

His aggression had vanished. All that was left was resignation and a dying flicker of hope, extinguished by the refusal to an open request so uncharacteristic of Anders.

Mike said nothing. His posture didn’t change but he avoided Anders’ eyes, clearly struggling for a fitting answer that just wasn’t there.

The only sound framing the silence was the dull murmur of traffic that trickled in from the road.

Finally, Anders said quietly, “Yeah, I figured.”

 _How could it ever be any different_. A dull throbbing had started in Anders’ temple and a bitter taste climbed up his throat. At least the vodka/beer mixture took the edge of the pain but soon enough this would fade, too.

Mike cleared his throat and in a solemn voice he said, “We can’t help you deal with delusions.”

He may as well have punched him in the stomach. Anders felt like the wind was knocked out of him and his stomach cramped painfully while the meaning of those words arrived in his brain. A ragged noise came out of his throat but no sound vaguely reminiscent of language. His head started to spin and Anders staggered in an attempt to regain control of his body yet he could do little else than just cling to the counter and stare at Mike in disbelief. _Try to keep breathing_.

Carefully, Mike went on, “I know it’s a challenge and –“

“Delusions.” Anders croaked out the word and the implication of the concept behind it slowly sank in. One by one and with a feeling of falling his thoughts approximated what Mike was implying.

Struggling for enough breath to answer Anders stammered, “You… you don’t even think I made that up – you think I’m imagining it.”

Anders stared at Mike, desperate to read his expression and with the absurd hope that he was taking the piss, riling his little brother up only to give him a soft punch on the arm and laugh at him a second later. But all Anders could find was seriousness and severity.

“But Mike…” Anders stuttered while his breaths became shorter. “I’m.. I’m telling the truth. I’m not crazy.”

Mike still didn’t give a reaction, a stark contrast to the little shivers that had started to run through Anders.

_It couldn’t be. Mitchell is real. I saw him. I touched him. You can’t touch delusions, can you? I’m not crazy. Why would I make up something like that?_

In a last attempt at denial, Anders whispered, “Ty?”

The only reaction he gave was an uncomfortable shift on his bar stool and unsteady eyes that avoided Anders’ gaze at all costs.

“It’s true… it happened! The deal and…” Anders’ voice barely carried and even in his own ears his attempts at an explanation sounded like little more than a stuttering rant.

“Mitch-… He… the vampire... he drank from me.” Anders tried to make eye contact with one of his brothers, _any_ of his brothers but to no avail. Panic grabbed him by the neck and the fact that no one looked at him made its grip all the tighter.

“I can show you the marks... they are still there from where he bit me!” He started to unbutton his shirt, wanting to present the marks like evidence in a court case. For a second Anders was scared of what he would find under his shirt. _If_ he would find something besides smooth skin.

“Anders.” Mike’s voice was nearly soft and it was that tone that had Anders utter a sob and let go of his buttons.

With a broken weep, Anders said, “Really… I didn’t make that up, Mike. You have to believe me.”

“Anders, don’t.” He eventually met Anders’ eyes. “Get help.”

With shaking fingers, Anders placed the empty beer bottle on the counter and left the bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *awkwardly clears throat* So that's that...  
> If you want to scream at me or utter a threat because I broke our favourite god - allow me to direct you to the comments section.
> 
> I know it looks fairly desperate now. It will continue in that vein for another chapter because I'm a sadistic bastard BUT it will get somewhat better in time! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders is struggling with his understanding of reality and finds something that might help him get a grip on things. Meanwhile, Ivan and Daisy aren't idle either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a bit of invented Bragi backstory in this chapter. The part in italics is a flashback again and takes place after the last one, so after Mitchell has left Ivan's apartment and texted Anders.
> 
> Please be careful if you're triggered by the following  
> \- mental illness/delusions  
> \- descriptions of wounds  
> \- suicidal behaviour  
> Intensity-wise it's like last chapter so you can place the gravity of the warnings...
> 
> Proof-read and illustrated as always by my lovely ConsultingFili!

_"John_ Mitch _ell?“ Seth said and his voice hitched, “Big Bad John? I thought you were bosom buddies, if not a little more?”_

_Ivan arched his brow and his eyes took on a cold shimmer while Daisy hissed at the implication._

_“Keep your thoughts to yourself!” She bared her fangs and approached Seth with two long strides. He seemed to shrink a few inches under her stare._

_“I’m sorry, mylady.” Daisy only narrowed her eyes._

_Ivan leaned on the door of the closed funeral parlour and thereby casually blocked the only entrance to this room with his broad frame._

_He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “You’re not here to question my tasks for you. And neither to dwell on my motives. Just consider this a chance for you to show what you’re made of. If I like it, good. If I don’t…” Ivan let the sentence hang between them, followed by an indifferent shrug of his shoulders._

_Seth hastened to nod while still eyeing Daisy with unease. She had started to walk around the room to position herself diagonally behind him. “Of course. Anything in particular I should look out for?”_

_“Find out where he goes and who he meets. I want an account of his acquaintances and actions together with the exact timing and timespan it takes. Come back to me in five days with enough material to map out every move Mitchell has taken in that time.” Ivan pushed himself off the doorframe and came closer to Seth while Daisy closed in on him from behind. “He left my apartment half an hour ago so chances are he’s roaming the city. Find him. Observe him.”_

_Ivan’s voice was still conversational – he didn’t need a particularly threatening tone to convey his meaning. “I strongly suggest you keep our arrangement solely between us. No one needs to know about this, least of all Mitchell himself. And of course – make sure you’re not seen by him. You know Mitchell’s temper.”_

*****

 

Anders sat on the floor in his living room. The shutters were half-closed and blocked out most of the silvery afternoon. The only source of light was the fish tank’s bulbs that coloured the scene in an unsteady blue-ish coat, bouncing off the glass of the vodka bottle.

Somehow, Anders had made it home from the disaster at the bar. With his mind clouded and his insides hurting he had stumbled out of the pub, taken a left and then had kept to the road. Ever on he had walked, stumbled, until he came to realise that he wasn’t heading home but towards the city centre. The thought of people had freaked him out and in agitation, he had run the long way round until his lungs hurt and his breath came in ragged huffs, blocking out any of the thoughts that rushed through his head. Desperate for a drink he had struggled to let himself into his apartment, thrown his jacket over the sofa and downed about half a bottle of vodka in a few gulps. He had high hopes that it would keep his head from exploding over the implications Mike had brought up. It had worked countless times before, reliably receding any sensation to a dull version of itself. It had to work now.

Anders’ back leaned against the wall with the fish tank which was the only thing that kept him from falling over. Through heavy lids he scanned the floor for the bottle he had put down a moment earlier. His head was spinning from the alcohol but fuck it, he needed another mouthful and then some.

 _I’m alone in the world_. His own family thought he was crazy. They had let him down, again, and kicked him when he was already writhing on the ground. Told him he was a nutcase, a lunatic. A madman on a psychotic break. Panic rose in his stomach again and with unsteady hands he took another sip. _Don’t think about it. Not yet._ There wasn’t enough booze in the world to silence his pain completely but Anders would give it a damn good try.

Why was it so hard for them to just believe him for once? Weren’t you supposed to look out for one another in a family? _Even Mitchell had said so_ , Anders thought, and he didn’t look like the finest family man to walk the earth. Sure, Anders himself hasn’t always been the most attentive brother and they barely tolerated each other at the best of times. But that didn’t cancel out help. Hell, he had helped Axl when the whole Frigg-quest had begun. He had saved his brothers with Bragi’s abilities of persuasion more times than he cared to remember. A family should stick together.

But he had asked for support outright and had been rejected.

That wasn’t family – that was betrayal.

Anders wished he had just listened to his instinct instead of Mitchell’s insistence.

 _It’s not his fault. He only meant well._ Maybe Mitchell was a family man after all, Anders reconsidered, back when he was a normal human being.

Anders squinted his eyes and tried to conjure an image of Mitchell, dressed in simply cut clothes, running around with his brothers in a field in Ireland. He would laugh and play football with them, patch up their bruised knees and encourage them to stand back up. He would defend his younger siblings against bullies and make sure they feel loved. He would pick fresh flowers for his mum and proudly attend all stupid school plays, the kind Anders’ brothers had always avoided and he would…

Anders groaned as he moved and his back painfully protested. How long had he been sitting like that? He pulled back his shoulder blades and heard a distinct cracking sound. While his head tried to regain the thought that had made him feel a little better just then Anders realised that he had never actually seen Mitchell smile in joy. He briefly wondered what it would look like. Maybe he was a shy grinner with mischief glinting in his eyes. Or he had a broad laugh that warmed the heart of anyone who heard it.

Anders struggled to shift into another position but gave up halfway through in favour of another drink. When the liquid ran down his throat and he let himself fall back against the wall once more his limbs felt comfortably numb and the irritating cramp in his stomach had eased up a bit.

Mitchell, the vampire.

“The monster” as Axl had named him.

“Delusions” as Mike had proclaimed.

Anders’ head thumped against the wall and he closed his eyes to stop his blurry vision from confusing him. It didn’t help. Everything started to spin and with effort, he opened his eyes again.

Delusions.

Every syllable of the word sounded harsh in his ears. The sharp start, the pity in the long middle sound and the condescending end with a hiss.

Losing his mind was the very thing Anders had been afraid of since his 21st birthday. When he had become Bragi’s vessel and wasn’t alone in his head anymore.

On dark days, Anders felt like his mind was shattered anyway. He knew that he and the god of poetry were similar in character despite his brothers’ insistence that Anders was a crude prick. It would’ve been so easy to let his self blend in with Bragi’s personality and power. He would only have to lower his defences and invite in the part of his mind that belonged to Bragi.

Anders knew that Mike had done it back in the day when he was hustling pool. The blond himself was no stranger to this blending of god and vessel either. When he had first realised Bragi’s use to him Anders had gone overboard with it. In his early 20s and the world hanging on the very words that left his lips – who was he to let this chance pass by? Anders had founded J:PR and got in and out of any compromising situation without difficulty. He had revelled in the possibilities and dreamt up the extent of power at his disposal when their quest would be finished. When the Johnsons would be a proper god family. Yet little by litter, he had grown uneasy. Instead of relief at the prospect of not having to deal with two entities in his head Anders had felt like he was giving himself up. He gradually re-instated the boundaries and cut down his use of Bragi’s voice.

But he felt Bragi squirm and stir when he had been neglecting him, letting moments pass by in which Bragi saw a possibility. It boiled like the angry cry of a million voices condensed into his soul and wanting to tear him apart from the inside.

When he had felt it for the first time, Anders had been sure he had lost his mind. He had been scared shitless and without anyone to turn to he panicked. So he had locked himself in his flat for a week where he had drunk on end and did everything to shut out the driven feeling and Bragi’s insistence.

Except for the little scrapes of information Mike had shared Anders didn’t know exactly how the rest of his family coped with the god spirit – another thing they never talked about and his fear of lunacy remained.

It had taken him a long time to understand that Bragi was neither a curse nor a blessing. He simply was. A part of Anders he had to accept. Potential in its rawest form without moral obligations attached to it.

If Bragi had already cracked his mind it wouldn’t be too far-fetched to assume that the other events had finished the job. Maybe he was crazy. After all, finding the dead body of your godly beloved sprawled out in a lake of blood on your kitchen floor is not something you dealt with easily. Being killed by your brother and resurrected by Michele was also right up there on the list.

Maybe the vampire was not real.

Mitchell might well be the personification of all his desires and thoughts. Dark, handsome, strong, ruthless, and free. Without any responsibilities to burden him and equipped with enough power to be properly respected. Maybe even feared. In his drunken mind, Anders curled up his lips in a strange grin. Mitchell might be his Tyler Durden.

He struggled to sit upright and downed another drag of vodka. Mitchell as an imaginary vampire as his imaginary friend. Anders giggled. What a stupid idea. How many irreal manifestations can one man take?

Leaning heavily on the wall, Anders got up and stared through the glass wall of the fish tank. Were his fish real? Was any of this real? At least he could see his own reflection and if that wasn’t a starting point then what was. Feeble on his legs he staggered to the freezer and opened it to retrieve the next bottle. Holding it to his chest like a treasured token he made his way to his bedroom, where Mitchell had cared for him after he had fed… Anders let himself sink down on the bed and remembered the vampire’s hand gently cupping his cheek and talking to him in his interesting Irish drawl. He had kept him from falling over and covered him with a sheet so he wouldn’t be cold. Maybe he wasn’t alone in this world after all, Anders thought faintly. If Mitchell wasn’t pure imagination. He had seemed so real with his soft curls and earthy scent, Anders mused in drunken innocence while in the back of his mind the word “monster” still pulsated.

They must still be there, Anders thought and a driven feeling grew in his stomach, the marks were proof. Even if Mike didn’t want to see them. He let go of the vodka bottle that had left a damp stain on his shirt and started to undo his shirt buttons, his fingers clumsy and numb. Then, he struggled out of his slacks. Dressed only in his boxers he stumbled to the full length mirror that was installed on the door of his closet. Anders tripped over his own feet and propped himself on the glass.

His body was covered in them.

Dual bite marks, all over his main arteries. They clung to his tan skin like leeches. Two point scars with the perfect distance from each other, the distance of Mitchell’s fangs and in between, his tongue lapping up the blood. Anders let his hand travel over the signs of Mitchell’s possession of him. His neck, his sides, his arms and thighs – all marked up. Like a human voodoo doll, only the marks were not intended to hurt but keep harm from his family.

The sight of his bruised skin tore through Anders’ drunken haze. Mitchell had done this. He couldn’t be an illusion. The different shades of purple around the bite marks talked to Anders, each telling a story of addiction and sex and… reality.

Mitchell and his sharp fangs and tousled dark curls, his black eyes and hungry kisses and kind words.

Anders started to shiver until a sob climbed out of his throat. Mitchell had been kind to him, kinder than his own family. It didn’t matter whether he was real or not – what mattered to Anders was the strange comfort the vampire extended to him. Of course this was a deal. Of course Mitchell drank his blood but Anders was ready to give all of himself for a scrape of love, regardless in its quality. Being part of a deal wasn’t a bad thing. It meant that he was needed, that he had a purpose. Respect and recognition.

Anders leaned heavily on the mirror and pushed himself up fully, one step at a time to give his stomach and head time to adjust. He was piss drunk but he felt that somehow, his thoughts were unaffected and clearer than ever.

Why fight for his family’s approval when there is nothing to gain? There were other ways, Anders thought, far more attractive ways. Anders grabbed his shirt and put it on, fighting with the buttons and sleeves. He fumbled for his slacks and finally dressed, he realised exactly who he was dressing for instead of just collapsing on the bed.

 _I need to see Mitchell,_ he thought and staggered into the living room. The simple sentence became his mantra and repeating it under his breath he sat down on the floor heavily to tie his shoe laces. Like a child he stared at the loops and struggled to finish the knot. Just as he mustered his strength to get up again something under his sofa caught his eye.

A stake. Fashioned from dark wood with a sharpened tip.

One of the four he had made from the chair legs the night Mitchell had attacked him. It was the one he had gripped tightly during his sleep. Anders remembered foggily how it had rolled under the couch after he had woken up.

A surprised grin crawled into his features as his fingers fumbled for the stake. He didn’t exactly know what he wanted to do with it but his instinct told him to retrieve it. Vampires. Blood. Stakes. Delusions. It all made sense on a subliminal level.

Anders grabbed it firmly with his right hand, testing the weight like a skilled swordsman would test a new weapon. It lay well in his grip and with his left he ran his thumb over the spike. The ragged edges from the broken side made two tips out of one. Each was sharp and strong enough so it wouldn’t break on impact on either a human’s or a vampire’s chest. And it’d probably go right through a delusion without meeting resistance, Anders thought drunkenly. The stake’s heft gave him a feeling of being in charge – of both his fate and Mitchell’s.

 

*****

 

Mitchell had just poured himself a cup of coffee when his doorbell rang. Who the hell would pay him a visit at five in the afternoon? He set down his mug hoping to return before its content was cold. Following a zigzag trail to avoid stepping on used clothes and scattered records, he answered the door.

Anders. He stood in the door frame, heavily leaning on his right shoulder, and waved with a distracted motion. “Ah, Tyler, good to see you.”

“Why are you calling me Tyler? What’s wrong with you?” Mitchell frowned and added, “Is that a stake in your pants or are you just happy to see me?”

A second later, he regretted his harsh words when he noticed Anders’ appearance. He was wearing the remains of an elegant suit – that was probably the factor that intensified his ragged look. The suit jacket was nowhere to be seen. Anders’ shirt was half-open, the fabric creased and the few buttons he had managed to fasten were done up the wrong way. Carelessly rolled-up sleeves clung to his arms at different heights. Only half the shirt stuck in his grey slacks that looked like he had slept in them. The tie was loose and barely tied anymore, and to round off the picture of neglect Anders’ hair was more of a mess than Mitchell’s had been in a long time.

“Both, actually.” Anders slurred his words and to Mitchell’s surprise he indeed produced a stake from under his trousers’ waistband. He looked at it in detached interest and then turned his head to flash Mitchell an unsteady smile.

 

 _You gotta be kidding me._ For a second, Mitchell just stared at the stake in Anders’ hand, not believing his eyes.

“Are you crazy? Don’t stand there with that thing in your hand, come in!” Mitchell hissed, grabbed Anders by his collar and dragged him over the threshold, closing the door with his boot.

In the same movement, he tried to pry the piece of wood from his hands but Anders’ fingers wouldn’t let go. Anders sheltered the weapon with his body from Mitchell’s attempts to break the defence and shoved his shoulder against the vampire’s chest with force. Mitchell let out a grunt and loosened his grip which Anders used to free himself. His right foot got stuck in Mitchell’s jacket lying on the ground and with a less than elegant stumble, Anders arrived at the counter.

“Is that coffee? Great.” He lifted the mug and treated himself to a gulp. Mitchell was rubbing his chest and stared at Anders’ – and the stake – with angry eyes.

“Why do you appear on my doorstep, drunk, in the afternoon, with a fucking stake in your hand?” Mitchell asked sharply, his Irish accent becoming more distinct.

Anders put down the mug and turned to the vampire with an uncertain expression as if he had forgotten the little brawl just a few seconds ago. With a light stumble, he came closer to Mitchell, close enough for him to smell the alcohol on Anders’ breath.

“Let me ask you, Mitchell,” Anders slurred and brought his face within spitting distance of Mitchell’s, “are you real?” He tilted his head in question and squinted as if to focus.

“What?” Mitchell scoffed, “Of course I am. I’m as real as you are.”

Impatiently, the vampire narrowed his eyes and tried to get a grip on his annoyance. As far as he was concerned there was a special place in hell for unannounced visitors. Especially the ones who brought a weapon. Besides, why would Anders drop by? The entire situation didn’t make any sense to Mitchell. It was him who called on Anders, not the other way around. Their meetings were characterised by demand and supply and their roles were painfully clear. Anders passing out had been a bit of a game changer, sure. But they hadn’t met since and Mitchell was wary of building on assumptions – he’d rather rely on the status quo they had had before.

Whatever was happening here, Mitchell didn’t like where it was going. Anders looked awful. Not only were his clothes rumpled. His eyes were sunken in and the kind of red that either crying, alcohol or sleep deprivation were to blame for. His skin was of a sickly pale colour. Despite standing still he seemed to radiate an erratic energy that made Mitchell cautious – that kind of energy usually found an outlet one way or another.

“As real as I am,” Anders repeated slowly, “Good.”

Anders took a step back, twirled the stake and before Mitchell could react he had placed it on the vampires’ chest with both hands gripping tight.

“So you feel this?” The sharp tip of the stake pushed through the fabric of his shirt and Mitchell felt it nip at the skin right over his heart.

He froze and tried to process what had just happened. Mitchell didn’t dare to make a move and possibly upset Anders. Sure, he was drunk, but he was also gripping the right end of the stake. Mitchell remained as still as he could and tried to anticipate Anders’ next move. _He can’t be here to kill you_.

Anders looked at Mitchell with a calm expression. Not hate or disgust was showing in his face, nothing to motivate a kill. He simply held the stake in place and waited for Mitchell to react and answer his question.

“Jesus, Anders. Put that thing away.” Apprehension had snuck its way into Mitchell’s voice. Slowly, the vampire lifted his hands in demonstration of his peaceful intent.

 _Something must have gone wrong_. The god Mitchell had in front of him was a shadow of Anders’ former self. Gone was the snarky tone and cocky self-confidence and in replacement he seemed to be somehow serious and irrational.

Anders increased the pressure slightly and Mitchell’s muscles tensed, prepared to make a fast get-away. He probably couldn’t get hold of the stake but at least he was quicker on his feet should it be necessary. Since they were standing in the middle of the room Mitchell had enough open space behind him to react. Anders, on the contrary, stood so close to the couch that his legs nearly brushed up on the leather.

The Irishman cleared his throat and answered, “Yes, I feel that. What’s going on?”

Anders looked at Mitchell with a puzzled expression in his eyes that bordered on awe. Then, with nearly childish curiosity in his voice he said, “The stake doesn’t go through you.”

Mitchell furrowed his brows. What did Anders expect? Just holding a stake to a vampire’s heart isn’t enough, obviously, so that couldn’t be what he was after. The fact that Anders had started to utter sentences that lacked context made Mitchell uneasy. Maybe he wasn’t only drunk but also on some sort of other drug. In any case he didn’t seem rational. All of the sudden, Mitchell wasn’t too sure anymore whether he was threatened or not.

“Anders,” Mitchell said with an imploring tone and hoped the god would focus on him rather than on the weapon, “what happened?”

For a moment, Anders didn’t react. He stared at Mitchell but somehow without focus, as if looking right through him. His fingers cramped around the stake as Mitchell noticed with alarm. Just as he was ready to knock Anders out, the god answered.

“They said you weren’t real.” Anders mumbled so silently that Mitchell nearly missed it.

 _What_? Mitchell’s eyes narrowed and he let his hands sink slowly. Not real. Had the statement come from anyone else Mitchell would have felt tempted to laugh. But Anders, drunk, confused Anders made him edgy. _Not real._ As in imaginary? He surely couldn’t mean that he... The pieces started falling into place and Mitchell slowly grasped what was going on.

Anders really wasn’t here to kill him. He wanted to get a grip on his own reality.

Mitchell could only guess that the stake came into play as a means of control. A weapon whose weight gave Anders not only the feeling of being in charge but also offered protection. _Protection_ _from me_ , Mitchell realised and a growl built up in his chest.

The stake was Anders’ tool to test reality. An extreme version of “Pinch me, is this real?” Whoever had talked him into questioning his version of the world had certainly left an impression.

To not upset Anders any further, Mitchell concealed his anger with a warm voice. “Who said?”

Anders avoided his eyes and Mitchell could feel the stake quiver on his chest. “My family.”

 _What sort of fucked up family tells their brother he’s imagining things?_ Mitchell felt the well-known heat of rage rise up from his core and just barely kept his eyes from switching to black.

The Johnsons broke Anders. Mitchell clenched his fists and stared blindly ahead while his brain went into overdrive. For every time the blond had squirmed and panted under Mitchell when he dug his fangs in the soft, warm skin the Johnsons should pay. And they would. _They deserve a visit from Anders’ imaginary friend._ _I’ll show them just how real I am_. Hunting them down wouldn’t be too difficult, Mitchell figured, since they doubt his existence anyway he could probably easily sneak up on them and round them up in a desolate room somewhere, tie them down in a nice semi-circle so no one misses any part of the show and break them, one by one. He would take his time. No sloppy, careless killing this time but a well-planned attack. Brutal and drawn-out until every one of these bastards had admitted Anders’ pain and owned up to every drop of blood he had left to protect them. Mitchell could almost feel their blood wet his mouth.

But for now, Mitchell had to focus on Anders _. Patch up the damage done as well as you can and get rid of the stake._

“Anders...” Mitchell kept his voice calm and gentle to give the blond no reason for agitation, “I’m real.” He wracked his brain for a suitable memory from their feed-and-fuck routine to bring up as evidence but before anything came to mind, Anders lifted his head and started talking again.

“I said that.” A bit of life returned to his eyes and he nodded in sympathetic agreement – an eerie movement in combination with the stake still grazing Mitchell. “I told them that you’re real. That our deal is real.”

Mitchell could see how Anders struggled with his inner replay of the meeting. His gaze flickered and when he went on he only sounded lost. “I went there because I had promised you. But they insisted you were an illusion. All of them did.”

Anders’ words carried no accusations but he may as well have staked Mitchell for real.The vampire felt like his ribs were being crushed and his lungs made a wheezing sound escape from his lips.

 _It’s my fault_.

Mitchell sharply drew in air and tried to process Anders’ words calmly but to no avail. His head was spinning. His throat was dry and he tried to place the bitter feeling that rose up and clawed at his insides. Anders’ sorry condition was on him.

 _He_ had told Anders to meet with his family. _He_ had made Anders walk into a situation where he was mocked and toyed with. And he hadn’t been there to protect him.

Mitchell exhaled slowly, all his effort was placed on not moving rapidly lest Anders felt threatened.

Swaying slightly, Anders continued, “And I kept thinking that the stake would go through you then. Without touching you.” He intensified the pressure on Mitchell’s chest slightly as if to try again. “But it doesn’t.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Remembering how well Anders had responded to his words when he was on the verge of passing out Mitchell continued to speak softly, despite the chaos going on inside of him, “I’m not an illusion, Anders.“

The stake on Mitchell’s chest was a direct reaction to his arrogant assumptions about family and the laughable moment that had surprised himself, during which he had talked about honour and noble behaviour. He hadn’t known where this had come from but in that moment, sitting across from Anders, he had meant it. _If I hadn’t gotten carried away there. If only I had found a better way to deal with this fucking mess then Anders would be fine._

Anders had known. From the get-go he had said that he didn’t want his family involved and he, Mitchell, had insisted. He deserved the nip of the stake on his skin. Hell, he could understand if Anders buried the bloody thing in his chest.

Blue eyes were fixed to the stake and Mitchell wasn’t entirely sure that Anders acknowledged his presence anymore.

“Please, Anders, look at me.”

Cautious and hesitant, the blond lifted his head. The hopelessness, insecurity and pain in Anders’ eyes tore at Mitchell and the only thought that remained in his mind was not one of revenge or guilt. _I’ll fix you. I’ll keep you safe_.

Still careful to make slow movements and not to touch Anders, Mitchell shifted his weight and leaned closer, ever so slightly. The stake poked harder against his chest for a moment before Anders followed his movement and eased up on the pressure.

Mitchell looked Anders straight in the eye. “All of this is real, Anders. You’re not mad like they want to have you believe. You’re not their toy because you’re in _control_ of your world. Reality is at your fingertips. Everything around you is real and for you to draw from. You can decide what you want to do.”

He paused to make sure Anders was not only listening to him but understanding his words. The god nodded vaguely.

“But every decision has its consequences. The stake you’re pushing against my chest is real. You feel it in your hands and I feel it graze my skin. What happens next? One thing is for sure: You stake me, I die. There’ll be real blood on your hands.” At this, a choked sob came out of Anders’ throat. “But it wouldn’t be a decision if there wasn’t another option. It’s up to you and if you feel it all to be confusing then I’ll help you. If you let me.”

“I don’t want you to die,” Anders said in a flat voice as if talking to himself, “You’re the only one left.”

“Then please, put down the stake and no one will be hurt.” In suspense, Mitchell waited for Anders to react. Slowly, the god started to lower the piece of wood.

Mitchell nodded solemnly. “Thank you.“

Relief washed over him. Granted, it hadn’t been the best speech he had ever given but it seemed to have struck a chord in Anders. Reality and control, this was what this episode was about. And Mitchell knew a thing or two about those.

At least the stake didn’t seem to be of interest to Anders anymore. Keeping the stake at his side he simply stared at Mitchell without any particular emotion. He swayed a little from side to side to keep his balance and this movement robbed him from any resemblance Anders had had with the smart business man Mitchell knew.

The residue of relief Mitchell had felt vanished at this sight. There was no way of knowing what would happen next. Was it Mitchell’s move? Should he come closer to Anders and soothe him? Or just wait for him to do something and snap out of his catatonic state? While considering his options, Mitchell lifted his right hand to rub over the spot the stake had been pushed against.

He hadn’t quite reached his chest when he realised his mistake.

„NO!“ Anders yelled and his eyes darted open. He hauled up the stake and in horror Mitchell saw Anders pressing it to his chest. Directly on his skin.

“Don’t come any closer!“ Anders’ voice was on the verge of breaking but not for a second did Mitchell doubt the sincerity of his reaction. The vampire stumbled backwards, shocked and lost for words, while Anders twisted the weapon.

“You wanted to take the stake! If you come any closer you can pick it from my chest!”

“Anders, don’t…” Mitchell’s voice was a coarse whisper as he stared at Anders. The god’s half-open shirt seemed like a canvas to Mitchell and with half a mind he imagined blood crawling all over the fabric in damp clamminess – a picture that made him sick to the stomach.

“Stay back!” Panic and fear seemed to hold Anders together. Tears of desperation had started to roll down his cheeks while Mitchell tried to grasp the scene in front of him. This stake just couldn’t end up in Anders’ chest, not on his watch. Simply grabbing it might result in an injury of one of them and he wanted to avoid that at all cost. Mitchell choked when he saw the dent the stake formed in Anders’ skin. He tried to keep his own panic at bay and focussed on Anders, careful not to make another rash movement. _Do something, say something_.

“Don’t hurt yourself, Anders.” Mitchell’s voice quivered but gained strength when he went on, “I don’t want to take anything from you, you hear me? I just made a stupid hectic move and I’m sorry I scared you.”

Anders’ eyes were still fixed on the vampire in disturbing intensity. Mitchell could see Anders’ knuckles turn white around the dark wood of the stake. This time, no tremble ran through his hand.

“Keep the stake but please, _please_ don’t hurt yourself,” Mitchell begged and felt his throat tighten, “It’s not your fault, none of this. It’s politics and agendas, lines drawn in the sand. But it’s not your fault. You’re not the one who should pay for it.”

Desperation made Mitchell shiver and he fought back the tears that had started to build up in his eyes. Anders stared at him and his mask of terrified anger softened. He ran his left hand over his eyes and whimpered.

“I…. I don’t know what to do anymore.” Anders’ fingers opened and with a clattering sound the stake hit the floor and rolled a few feet.

“We’ll think of something,” Mitchell said in a thick voice, “I promise.”

“Mitchell...” Anders sent out the vampire’s name like a distress signal. His whole body shook, with his right he reached for Mitchell and took a step towards him before his knees gave in. Mitchell grabbed his elbow, quick and tight, and hauled Anders towards himself. The god’s weight rested heavily on Mitchell’s chest and before Anders could slip from his grip, he hooked his right under Anders’ arm and pulled him close. For a second, Anders hung limp in Mitchell’s clutch. Then, his arms wound around Mitchell’s slim waist with force. Anders was clinging to him like a drowning man – which he was, in a way, as Mitchell started to realise. He felt each of Anders’ sobs reverberate through his own body. The spot on his shirt that Anders had grazed with the stake was now wet with tears.

Mitchell could only hold Anders on his feet until his attack was over. In a gesture of sympathy he pressed his face into the blond locks. The familiar smell of Anders was soothing but the shock of his irrationality and willingness to hurt himself sat deep. _What have they done. What have I done?_ Mitchell intensified his grip on Anders, who was still shaking in his arms, and pressed a shy kiss on the top of the blond hair.

Finally, Anders’ sobs became lighter. When his breathing returned to almost normal and his hold on Mitchell loosened, the vampire gently pushed Anders on the couch. “Sit down for a moment, darling.”

Without replying Anders let himself fall heavily on the leather and buried his head in his hands. Mitchell sat down next to him, not losing the touch on Anders’ shoulder and running his thumb softly over the god’s shoulder blade. He remained silent despite his desperate need for a coherent explanation and just waited. For however long it might take.

Finally, Anders lifted his head from his hands. “I told them, Mitchell.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you have a Mitchell around to hug you. If not: tea and cookies are on me!
> 
> Please bear with me in case the next chapter takes a while longer... I'm on it but writing this highly emotional stuff is harder than I thought.  
> Thank you for kudos, comments and sticking around! It's so interesting to hear what you think about this story :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My laptop died on me and ate a fair share of editing for this chapter so that took a while... but here we are, finally!  
> It picks up right where we left off with the last chapter. 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading and leave us your thoughts if you feel like it!

“I told them, Mitchell.”

Anders’ voice was coarse from the tears that still lingered on his cheeks. He sat bent forward, his hands on his knees and simply stared ahead. The exhausted shivers had stopped but Mitchell continued to run his hand slightly over Anders’ back to calm him down. Well, to calm them both down. Mitchell’s anger hadn’t subsided and what Anders was about to say would certainly not help. But this was beside the point – he needed to know how exactly Anders had been turned into the sorry version that sat next to him and who was responsible. The feeling of his warmth under Mitchell’s hand let him at least stay focussed for the time being.

Anders rubbed an impatient hand over his face to get rid of the salty remains. “I called the meeting after you left. A few hours ago I walked to that shitty bar and met my brothers... and I tried to make them understand what was happening. I warned them and told them about our deal and they... they just kept interrupting me. There are so many fucked up things between us like you wouldn’t believe. It all sort of escalated and we lost sight of the main thing. Axl wanted to punch me and then... then Mike said...” Anders fell silent, his eyes squeezed shut and his words ran into each other.

"The supposed delusions,” Mitchell said quietly and rubbed over Anders’ shoulder blade a little firmer.

 "Yes,” Anders nodded, opening his eyes but still not looking at Mitchell, “and I nearly believed him.”

His hand started to drum against his thigh in agitation. Mitchell thought of reaching for it but discarded the idea – that would be too intimate. Anders had enough on his mind already without having to worry about the meaning of a soothing gesture. So he remained silent because after all, what was there to say? He didn’t want to be the trigger that made Anders go off again, now that he was somewhat stable. The only thing Mitchell could give him in this moment was his rage and his comfort – depending on what was more urgently needed.

“How could they do that?” Anders cleared his throat, betraying his bitterness, “We’re blood. And no one spoke up. Not even Ty. He just looked away.”

With an erratic move, Anders stood up and paced around the room. A bitter laugh escaped his throat. Mitchell remained silent and simply watched Anders, waiting to see which road he’d take.

“So as it turns out I’m but a piece of shit to my family. I am trash. A fucking nuisance at best, worthless at worst. The blackest sheep in a family consisting exclusively of black sheep. I subject myself to _this_ ,” he gestured in Mitchell’s direction in a drunken wave, “for all for them, and they have the audacity to throw it back in my face.”

 _He’s not angry at you_ , Mitchell tried to rationalise Anders’ outburst, _it’s the deal that bothers him_. To be perfectly fair they were on the same side – Mitchell’s plan to hunt down the Johnsons took on a more definite shape in his mind and at this stage Anders surely wouldn’t object.

“Damn the lot of them,” Anders continued and walked up and down with long strides and grand gestures, “Cause who needs a god of poetry when you’ve got my almighty Lord fucking Odin, Ullr who is just about the worst loser you’ll ever meet, an oracle who knows fuck all when it comes to anything but surfing and drugs and even fucking Hodr is up there on the hitlist, all cool and dark.”

“And your brother, your family...” Mitchell stuttered.

“I’m worthless to them,” Anders used Mitchell’s pause in the conversation to continue his speech, “a fucking appendix of a brother. Best to be cut out and thrown away. Insignificant.”

He staggered and clung to the kitchen counter for a second. Mitchell watched him closely in case another panic attack seized Anders. His shoulders were bowed and his face was turned away from Mitchell; all he could see was his back that shook slightly. Just as Mitchell wanted to get up and steady him, the god turned around.

Anders’ posture became straighter and he focussed Mitchell for the first time since he had let go of the stake. He was still drunk, clearly, but there was a spark in the blue that told a story of determination that made Mitchell edgy. He had seen that look more than once before and it could only mean one thing: he wasn’t the only predator in this room anymore. Anders’ movements gained a certain cat-like elegance as he took a step towards Mitchell.

“But then there’s you in the picture.” His voice became dangerously smooth, no trace of his earlier sarcasm remained. He fixed his attention solely on Mitchell when he said, “You need me.”

Before Mitchell had a chance to reply Anders’ eyes took on a wicked colour that tried to cover up his desperation and hurt.

“Drink from me,” he whispered and Mitchell saw the darkness of Anders shine through and line up with his own.

But this was neither the time nor the place for that, Mitchell reminded himself and quickly shook his head. “Anders, you’re drunk.”

“And you can be, too!” Anders had gone back to exaggeration and the god’s sudden changes in mood and tone made Mitchell uneasy.

“Just choose a vein. I’m not picky. How about this one, huh?” Anders tore at his tie and made it untangle while offering his neck, “or somewhere on my torso?”

With a rough tear Anders yanked on his half-open shirt, causing a button to bounce off. His shirt fell open but he hardly paid any mind to it. He didn’t give Mitchell a moment to interrupt him and went right on, “Or even better, how about my groin? How do you like that? Whichever makes you hard the quickest and gets you off the best.”

With every word, Anders came closer to Mitchell who sat at the edge of the sofa now. _He doesn’t mean it,_ Mitchell justified Anders’ words. He was hurt, his emotions all over the place, he was sobering up but still quite drunk and he didn’t know what he was saying. The offer was one out of spite and intended to hurt and provoke Mitchell – he was fully aware of that and fought the irritating feeling that grew in his stomach.

“You need me,” Anders repeated and standing in front of Mitchell he buried his right hand in his curls. The twist on the well-known gesture caused the Irishman to squirm inwardly but the strange streak that had crawled into Anders’ features made him sit still. There were enough possibilities left for him to stop Anders in his episode before anything could happen. What this “anything” could be Mitchell wasn’t too sure but he was prepared to give Anders a chance to get it out of his system. Even if it meant sitting through insults. Watching Anders in this state was like watching a force of nature unfold: raw energy meeting any kind of obstacle and taking on an entirely unpredictable new route.

Mitchell made a point of avoiding the blue eyes in front of him even when Anders tugged on his hair. _You can get your outlet but leave me out of it_.

The lack of reaction made Anders let out a disapproving huff and with his next breath he let himself sink down slowly on Mitchell’s lap. The vampire’s muscles tensed up at the sudden proximity. Whatever made Anders tick in that moment corrupted the inviting feeling of his weight on Mitchell’s legs and his hands on his shoulders. Still staring ahead Mitchell met Anders’ gaze mere inches away from his face. Anders wasn’t an ugly crier and only a light red had joined the dark shadows under his eyes from his crying fit. His pupils were wide and the shimmering black nearly swallowed the blue colour, catching Mitchell off guard. _He’d make a beautiful vampire._

Straddling Mitchell but remaining perfectly still Anders whispered, “You want me. I am of _use_ to you.”

He grabbed Mitchell’s right hand and placed it on the vein on his jugular. “I am your bloodbank.”

Mitchell felt Anders’ pulse flutter under his thumb. The blood was rushing through the god’s veins right under Mitchell’s fingertips and so close to the surface that he could nearly smell it. It was the beauty of temptation that made Mitchell’s resistance fragile – he didn’t want to drink from Anders, not in this state and certainly not from his neck, but the lust for the god’s blood tickled the back of his throat. He swallowed heavily while trying to ignore the insistent throbbing that crawled from under his fingers into his body. _Fight it_. His own heartbeat seemed to sync with Anders’ and Mitchell’s breathing deepened.

A sly grin played upon Anders’ lips and before Mitchell could place it, Anders started to grind his hips into his lap. Mitchell let out a small, surprised gasp and pressed his hand harder on Anders’ pulse.

“And I am your fuck toy,” Anders continued in a coarse voice that carried the variety of emotions he had lived through since he arrived. The friction Anders built up with his slow and deep movements made Mitchell dig his left into the sofa’s leather, filling the room with a crunching noise. _Hold on_ , he implored himself. _Don’t give in._ Yet feeling Anders’ cock grazing his own through the inconvenient layers of clothing made Mitchell shiver and lust spread from his throat through his whole body with hot intensity.

He stared on and pressed his lips together, trying to prevent his eyes from switching to black and his fangs from insisting to show themselves. The rational part of his brain cringed at the self-deprecation that Anders wallowed in so fully. This wasn’t only dirty talk, Mitchell understood. Anders meant it. What irritated him the most, however, was Anders' pretense that their earlier moment of closeness hadn’t happened. Anders acted as if they were still strangers united solely by a deal and not... well, as if Mitchell was just anyone.

 _But you’re mine_ , snapped the beast in Mitchell in savoured thoughts of possession, _mine alone._

Anders intensified his movements and brought his lips to Mitchell’s jaw, lightly trailing kisses and nips along his jawline. Every teasing touch made it more difficult for Mitchell to keep to the rational side of this, to not give into his urge to grab Anders and bite his soft and warm skin, to drink from him while he fucked him, letting Anders taste his own blood from the vampire’s mouth and making the god come with Mitchell’s name on his lips.

Anders’ free hand brushed over Mitchell’s chest and started to undo the buttons of his shirt. His breath ghosted over Mitchell’s skin when he whispered, close to his ear, “And most of all I am your whore.”

 _Whore_. The word cut right through Mitchell and made him snap out of the net of seduction Anders was spinning. He barely stopped himself from pushing Anders off his lap, disgusted by the extend of degradation. Saying that Mitchell was little more than a customer was one thing but Anders’ eagerness to label himself as a prostitute was beyond Mitchell’s grasp. It wasn’t like that, it _couldn’t_ be. The rush of blood under his fingers wasn’t inviting anymore but had taken on a stained quality. The thirst in Mitchell’s throat had died down entirely. It was all fabricated by Anders. Anders and his poisonous words that crawled under Mitchell’s coat of callousness.

“Anders, stop it,” Mitchell growled and tried to free his right from Anders’ grip and break the touch on his fast-paced pulse without success. Anders didn’t let him gain an inch more room than necessary and busied his hand with another of Mitchell’s buttons.

“Why?” Anders whispered into Mitchell’s ear.

“Because you’re better than that.” Mitchell’s jaw locked as he waited for Anders to react. The grinding stopped abruptly and Anders sat back to face Mitchell.

The change was immediate. No trace of seductive Anders remained and instead, Mitchell looked at narrowed eyes that scarcely hid his aggression.

“Better than what?” Anders snapped and let go of Mitchell’s hand on his throat, “being a whore? That’s fucking rich, coming from my number one customer. What, have I outlived my use for you, too? How far have I fallen that even _you_ reject me?” With a glare, the god pushed against Mitchell’s chest and used the momentum to stand up. Still facing Mitchell Anders took a few steps back.

"Anders…” Mitchell croaked as he realised how entirely wrong the blond had taken his words. “Please, listen, I...” Mitchell searched for a coherent sentence to make Anders understand that he wasn’t rejecting him like he thought. But Anders had reinstated a distance that spanned more than just a few feet and the stumbled sounds that came from Mitchell’s mouth couldn’t cross it. _Even you_. Mitchell had gone from being _the only one left_ to the scum of the earth in a matter of minutes.

A mean streak had crept into Anders’ eyes, adding to the pain and desperation that never quite seemed to leave them. Seconds passed in which he looked at Mitchell’s attempts to explain in disdain before he cut him short.

“What was it, _sweetheart_ ,” Anders snarled and the term of endearment dripped with sarcasm and venom, “Didn’t I moan loud enough? Didn’t I _fuck_ you like you wanted to be fucked? Didn’t I scream your name on the top of my lungs to your satisfaction? Tell me, Mitchell. I want to know. What was wrong with my services?”

Anders’ words rang cruelly in Mitchell’s ears. “Shut up.”

A huffed laugh fell from Anders lips. “Because you can’t face it? Because you’re pathetic and greedy and value yourself too highly to admit you’re a fucking punter and an addict?” Anders had shouted the last sentence and Mitchell was looking at the distorted mask of what used to be a handsome face.

“No.” In a careful movement Mitchell put his hands next to his thighs, still grabbing the couch’s surface.

“No?” Anders rasped and started to walk up and down the room in agitation, “You’re hardly the poster boy for ‘Clean Vampires Weekly’!”

“No, you’re right.”

Anders stopped in his tracks and fell silent. Then he turned to Mitchell with confusion written all over his face. “What?”

“You’re right,” Mitchell repeated calmly and got to his feet yet kept the distance to Anders, “I’m all of that. Even more. I’m a murderer, a monster, a demon. I am every sin combined. And yes, I’m perfectly aware of it. I’ve done things, Anders, and there is blood on my hands and fangs that just doesn’t wash off. I can’t erase any of it. Even if I could I don’t care to. I have accepted that part of me a long time ago and frankly, I’m enjoying it.”

Anders still stared at him in disbelief but seeming suddenly sober. _Good_ , Mitchell thought and warmed himself to the topic, _he needs to know_.

“The absence of morality, Anders, it gives me freedom. I don’t have a weak spot anyone can pressure me with. I see something I want and I take it, without fear of consequences. Nothing can hurt me because I’ve got nothing I’m tied to. It’s power and superiority to an extent you can’t even _begin_ to understand.” He could tell Anders felt the intensity of his words – the god hadn’t made a single sound since Mitchell had started talking and the only indication that he was still able to move were his hands that clung to the kitchen counter now.

“But then there’s you in the picture.” Mitchell consciously copied Anders’ earlier phrasing and tilted his head in imitation of the exact gesture the blond had used.

“The god. Of poetry.” With a slow step, Mitchell came closer to Anders. Little drops of sweat had built up on his forehead but he didn’t seem scared – for which Mitchell was relieved. He wasn’t trying to intimidate Anders despite the annoyance at his words. No, he wanted to gain his full attention.

“You offer me your blood and your body to ensure your family survives. I know your pressure point and I use it. Not to deliberately hurt you, you see, but because I can. And because I want to. I drink from you. I exploit you. So in a way you were right with your little speech about whore and client.” Mitchell paused but Anders didn’t react – he only continued to stare at Mitchell with wide open eyes, not moving a muscle.

“But something about you tears at me.” By now, Mitchell fought to maintain a collected appearance in spite of the chaos that was surging through him. With Anders standing just an arm’s length away Mitchell’s emotions seemed to take on an even stronger intensity. Was it the scent of Anders that sparked it? Whatever the reason, Mitchell felt a weird stinging in his stomach that proved his speech about morality wrong.

He took a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair.

“I thought I could ignore it but I can’t. I look at you and I see your sacrifice, the sacrifice you make for your own kind. It’s pure, it’s heroic and noble. It’s so...” Mitchell wrought his hands in search for the fitting word, “it’s so _human._ I’m reminded of the human condition every time I set my teeth on your skin. I thought I had shaken its hold on me long ago but now...” he shook his head, desperate to make Anders understand, “it’s still there or it has come back, I don’t know. After nearly a century of forgetting I’m reminded that you are better than me, than anyone I know. That there is a power out of my reach. And I never imagined doing what you do for anyone.”

The vampire ground his teeth audibly and struggled to keep his voice composed.

“But you tell me about your family spitting in your face, laughing off your pain and making you doubt your sanity and I want to tear their throats out, one after the other and make them watch till it’s their turn.” Mitchell’s voice had become a dark growl and with a quick blink his eyes turned black.

“Mitchell, don’t,” Anders said quietly but without conviction.

“One word from you and I...”

Anders brought up his hand to Mitchells’ cheek. He stared at Anders with his black eyes, taking in the man for whom he had decided to fight. Anders’ face had taken on an earnest impression Mitchell had never seen on him. His dimples were hidden in the sand coloured beard and despite his exhaustion he seemed focussed. Anders’ steady hand grazed over Mitchell’s jaw and moved to his neck. The vampire could feel his anger dwindle with every brush of Anders warm skin as he was pulled closer until finally, their lips met.

It was a tender kiss, almost chaste with their lips barely open – entirely unlike the urgent and desperate kisses they had shared before. Mitchell felt the god’s warm lips on his own and relished the softness that was accentuated by tingling scruff. He cupped Anders face with both hands and let his fingers move through the beard, bringing about a bristling sound. Anders was stroking his neck while the other one rested on his side, carefully pulling the vampire closer. Anders took his time in caressing Mitchell’s lips; almost as if he wanted to commit every detail to memory.

The familiar taste of Anders soothed Mitchell and his eyes returned to his human form. Without the blood rush that made every little impulse so distracting Mitchell could actually concentrate on the kiss. Anders tasted like he remembered but there was something else he hadn’t noticed before in the onslaught of impressions. A taste, a scent that was soft but also heady. Like the grain after a warm summer, just before harvest. _Home_ , Mitchell thought instinctively. A place of which he thought he had no memory left. He inhaled Anders’ scent and shivered slightly.

“You can drink from me if you want,” Anders said quietly and in a defeated tone while his taste still lingered on Mitchell’s lips.

 _No_. Mitchell closed his eyes shut for a moment and decided purely on intuition. The blood lust still hadn’t returned as Anders’ words unfolded in his mind.

Anders was offering himself. Again. In exchange for affection and sex.

The very idea made Mitchell cringe. After all this, Anders still felt like he needed to present him with something to repay the kiss – despite the fact that he had initiated it. Mitchell rested his forehead against Anders’ and tried to understand. The way Anders’ mind worked the kiss hadn’t been an offering in itself but rather something he had taken from Mitchell. And now he was desperate to make it up to him lest he was indebted.

Mitchell swallowed heavily. Here he was, he had decided to stand by Anders and keep him from harm – and the god turned it into another transaction because he couldn’t help himself. _He doesn’t think he deserves anything. Everything has to be repaid and evened out_. The cold efficiency that stood behind it sunk into Mitchell’s heart.

“Anders,” he said gently, “this is not about your blood or Bragi.”

He paused and his right hand softly thumbed over Anders’ cheekbone. _He is broken_ , Mitchell thought and felt a tight knot in chest _, they have broken him into pieces_.

It wasn’t pity that washed over Mitchell; nothing so mundane could measure up with his desire to care for Anders. He wanted not only to patch him up with words but heal him fully, fill his spirit with strength. Show him how to fight, make him fierce and stronger than he ever was so he couldn’t be harmed by anyone. Not even by a vampire.

“This is about you.” The words came easy, easier than Mitchell had ever thought possible. He traced Anders’ jaw with his right while his left reached for the god’s golden hair. Mitchell felt him shiver under his hands – impossible to say whether it was from exhaustion or emotions.

“It’s Anders that I want.”

There was something shimmering in Anders’ eyes – a gleam of hope, mixed with the timid blooming of trust. Mitchell was sure he saw it light up for the fraction of a second. Then, the clear blue became dull and clouded once more, Anders bowed his head and in a faint whisper he said, “No one wants Anders.”

“I do.” Mitchell looked at him intently, hoping the god would return his gaze. “How wrong they are. How utterly stupid and blind.”

Gently, the Irishman said, “Please, look at me.” Anders lifted his head and Mitchell could see hope return into his eyes. It was delicate and restrained, protected by walls and scared of rejection but it was there.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you. Not anymore,” Mitchell whispered against Anders’ lips, his voice coarse. Carefully, mindful of Anders' reaction he tenderly pressed his lips on the god’s once more.

Anders pulled Mitchell closer and softly licked along his bottom lip until he opened his mouth and their tongues met. Anders’ kiss was soft and strong at the same time. Mitchell could taste the hurt, the pain and desperation **.** But there was also sweetness in the way Anders gently grazed his lips.

Anyone who dared to hurt him would meet a dire fate, Mitchell promised himself. A tiny growl made its way out of Mitchell’s throat at that thought and travelled via his lips into Anders. The blond didn’t break the kiss like he had feared – instead, Anders’ tongue licked over the spot that hid Mitchell’s fangs. The touch sent sparks to his groin and he gasped, barely keeping his hips from pressing into Anders. As much as he wanted Anders he was prepared to give him time. A luxury no one else seemed to have ever extended to him.

Anders broke the kiss hesitantly to look at Mitchell as if to make sure he was actually there. The Irishman saw trust in the other’s eyes and to disperse the last smudges of doubt he whispered, “It’s fine. Whatever you choose to do.” It was Anders’ decision alone – Mitchell would protect him regardless of what followed.

Anders nodded solemnly. Then, carefully, he placed a soft peck on Mitchell’s lips and his hands found their way to Mitchell’s chest once more. He brushed his fingers through the dark curls and stopped at the shirt buttons that were still closed, opening them one by one while slowly rolling his hips against Mitchell. He placed his lips on Mitchell’s throat and trailed tickling kisses to the crook of his neck. Mitchell stroked through Anders’ locks and traced his jaw when his fingertips brushed against Anders’ beating pulse. Mitchell let out the breath that he had been holding unknowingly. Nothing. No tingling in his throat, no desire besides the one that started to make his jeans feel tight. Anders was so close to him and still the blood lust kept her fangs to herself. Reassured by Anders’ scent of home, Mitchell’s muscles relaxed and he started to enjoy little licks Anders placed on his skin.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” Anders murmured against Mitchell’s neck and opened the last button.

“I know.”

Anders’ hands ran over his chest and pushed the shirt over Mitchell’s shoulders. Only dressed in his jeans now Mitchell pulled Anders into his arms and let his hand run over his back until it rested on Anders’ shapely arse. The feeling of nimble fingers on his skin was familiar to Mitchell but the insistence that had snuck into Anders’ kiss and the little tugs on his hair made the vampire’s heart beat faster. Anders nudged him towards the sofa when Mitchell stopped him in his movement, nuzzling his neck.

“Bedroom,” he whispered and kept his hands long enough off Anders to open the door. Anders’ fingers brushed over Mitchell’s shoulders and arms, stopping at his hands to remove the gloves.

With his hands firmly on Mitchell’s back Anders walked backwards until his legs brushed upon the bedframe. He sat down, his feet securely on the ground, and wound his fingers through Mitchell’s belt loops. Following Anders' insistent pulling, Mitchell came closer. The next thing he felt was Anders' scruff tickling his lower stomach and eager lips exploring his skin. Mitchell closed his eyes, softly cupping Anders' cheek and running his fingers through the beard and along the moving jaw. He half expected Anders to make quick work of his buttons but instead the god pulled him into his lap, his lips moving up to Mitchell’s chest. Mitchell placed his knees on the bed next to Anders' thighs and felt a supportive hand in his back. Straddling him, a fluttered gasp flew from both their lips when Mitchell pressed against Anders’ erection. The soft touch of Anders’ hands on his sides became a little stronger but Mitchell took his time. No driven feeling grew in his stomach, and without the desperate need to feed and get off in time with the blood high he had all the time in the world to explore every inch of Anders. And he planned to enjoy it.

Mitchell kissed the god once more, their tongues playfully touching. This was different. Not another business transaction on the sofa, no quick and dirty fuck but something... stronger. The blood rush had intensified all sensations and had joined them to an exciting whirl. But now, Mitchell cherished the differences in the prickling feeling of Anders’ beard against his fingertips, the heady taste of his lips, the little moan that came from deep within his throat when Mitchell slowly rocked his hips and Anders’ cock rubbed against his own erection.

Without hurry Mitchell took the remains of Anders’ shirt off the broad chest. It pooled behind him on the bed and before Anders could strip it off his arms, Mitchell grabbed his wrists and trapped them in the fabric. Not to restrain him entirely – just hard enough to make sure he had his attention. Starting at the hollow of his throat Mitchell kissed a slow trail down the middle of Anders’ chest, slightly nuzzling the curly hair that felt soft against his lips. Anders hummed in approval and Mitchell placed his mouth over his nipple, flicking his tongue against the hard bud. Anders’ torso arched in an invitation that Mitchell couldn’t resist. He pressed his mouth closer to the god’s salty skin and lightly scraped his teeth over Anders’ nipple. The sound of a sharp breath taken in ended in a low moan when the vampire gently sucked and Anders’ hands pushed against Mitchell’s grip.

With a coy smile, Mitchell looked up through his dark lashes and purred, “Would you like to touch me, too?”

Anders’ lips were slightly parted as he met Mitchell’s gaze with dilated pupils. “Yes...”

Mitchell chuckled and let go of Anders’ wrists, freeing his arms from the shirt. Anders’ right immediately flew to Mitchell’s arse to press him closer while his left hand wound around Mitchell’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

That’s when he saw the marks on Anders’ bare arms.

Mitchell's gaze flickered to the faded spots on Anders' throat and back to the brighter ones on his arms. How beautifully they were blooming on the tan background. A streak of possessiveness crawled into Mitchell’s brain. Anders was _his_ , no one else's. _And he wears my signature etched into his skin for everyone to see_.

Aroused by the thought Mitchell kept the slow pace but kissed Anders harder and bit his lower lip just enough to mark it up, nice and red. With blunt nails he ran his left down Anders' back while his right stroked over the god’s upper arm. Anders winced into his mouth. The sharp exhale and the high sound startled Mitchell. Something wasn't right. He pulled back and drew his eyebrows together, looking at Anders. A crease had formed on the blond's forehead and his mouth was a thin line.

“I hurt you,” Mitchell whispered with a sinking feeling at the grimace of pain Anders' face had become.

“It’s fine.” Anders tried a smile that didn’t convince. “Just don’t put pressure on it.”

Mitchell carefully turned Anders’ arm to get a closer look. Several shades of purple were shining in bright intensity around the mark his fangs had left. The edged were frayed and crowned by a halo of a washed-out yellow – a suction mark in the form of his mouth.

“It’s not fine,” Mitchell mumbled, his voice thick with guilt, “I did this to you.”

“Really, Mitchell, it’s alright.” Anders let himself fall back onto the mattress, pulled Mitchell with him and kissed him slowly. “I love to wear them,” he added in a husky voice, “They remind me that you’re real.”

With a flutter in his stomach Mitchelllooked at the bruise again. His lust and his shame were both plainly visible on Anders’ body and the god interpreted them as a symbol for reality. _He shouldn't need to anymore_. Mitchell was right there and he would move heaven and hell to protect Anders, _his_ Anders. Give him a new reality and let the wounds heal.

Mitchell sought out the marks he had left on the blond’s otherwise immaculate body. The faded spots on his throat, barely visible anymore from the night he had attacked Anders. The upper arms, both marked up in bright purple. His left waist in a sickly brownish colour. The washed-out yellow just above his right hipbone. Careful not to apply too much pressure Mitchell placed gentle kisses on them, trying to atone for each hurting bruise with kindness.

His lips followed the perfect trail of curly hair leading him to the god’s groin and Mitchell let himself slide off the bed and on his knees in between Anders' legs. His fingers undid the buttons of Anders’ grey slacks. The god hips were rolling with every kiss and lick Mitchell placed on his skin, the outline of his hard cock clearly visible through the fabric. Slowly, Mitchell peeled all bits of clothing off Anders, brushing only his fingertips over his body. The sight of rock hard Anders moving impatiently under his hands made Mitchell’s breathing become deeper. His own erection pressed insistently against his jeans, demanding attention and encouraging him to stop the sweet torture he inflicted on Anders and himself. But there was one more bruise Mitchell knew he had left. With effort he decided against running his tongue along the tempting curve of Anders’ cock and sought out the last mark.

It sat on the inside of his thigh, still red and fresh from the last feeding. In its own strange way it was a thing of beauty: the ragged outline in lighter shades gave way to a deep red centre in which little spots of purple peeked through. As Mitchell’s breath washed over it Anders spread his legs further and slightly bucked his hips. Mitchell couldn’t resist running his hands over Anders’ strong thighs and reached for what he could grab of his perky arse. He licked lightly over the abused skin and when he kissed it Anders tangled his hands in the dark curls and moaned wantonly – a sound that made its way directly to Mitchell’s cock.

“Mitchell,” Anders gasped and propped himself up on his elbows. Mitchell could see his chest rise and fall in deep breaths.

“Yes, my love?” he murmured against Anders’ thigh, his tone laced with seduction and desire.

“Sleep with me.”

Mitchell smiled, came back up and pressed a deep kiss on Anders’ mouth. “I’d love nothing more.”

He stood up and unbuttoned his jeans while Anders’ fingers grazed his hipbone and sneaked under the waistband. As soon as Mitchell had gotten rid of his clothes Anders moved to the middle of the bed and pulled him close. Naked, beautiful, golden Anders on the black sheets, waiting for him – Mitchell grabbed the god and rolled on his back. Their erections met between them and Anders started to move with Mitchell's hand on his arse, both breathing heavily at the much needed friction.

With his right Mitchell blindly fumbled for the lube in the drawer of his nightstand while Anders sucked on his collarbone. Little shivers of pleasure ran through Mitchell.

"How do you want me?" Mitchell asked, unable to keep the greed out of his coarse voice. He gasped as Anders dipped his tongue into the hollow of his throat and ran a hand down the god’s stomach, giving Anders' cock a few strokes. With a jolt Anders pressed closer to him, his hot breath washing over Mitchell’s throat. "On top of me."

In a tangle of limbs Mitchell climbed between Anders' spread legs and opened the bottle of lube, pouring it on his hand. Anders bit his lip and watched Mitchell in anticipation while slowly touching himself. His eyes were clouded by lust - a sight more beautiful to the vampire than any artwork ever created.

He claimed Anders’ lips in a lingering but deep kiss and slipped a finger between his butt cheeks and into him, breathing in the delicious growl that left the blondes lips. He moved his hand, planning on gradually getting to know Anders' body when the god started to move eagerly and nibbled on his bottom lip. “More,” his husky voice commanded and Mitchell complied. His left reached between them and stroked Anders' cock in a slow pace as he took his time stretching and fucking the god on the fingers of his right hand.

"Fuck, Mitchell," Anders writhed in the sheets and jerked harder against Mitchell’s hand, "don't make me wait any longer."

Without further teasing, Mitchell slipped out his fingers and replaced them with his cock. He was moving inside Anders with deep thrusts, clinging to the god's shoulders and clutching his hair. His scent was everywhere, pouring into Mitchell and made him dizzy with lust.  
Anders felt so tight and hot under him as he was winding on the sheets and meeting Mitchell’s movements. His legs wrapped around Mitchell’s waist and pressed him closer into him. The room was filled with both their groans and gasps as Mitchell hit Anders' sweet spot.

"Mitchell!" His name falling from Anders’ lips, Anders’ nails marking up his back and the stifled breaths that may have come from either of them fuelled Mitchell’s lust. Anders with his flushed cheeks, short of breath and just too damn beautiful for Mitchell to grasp.

"Anders, you..." Mitchell’s words were lost in his throat and he kissed him again.

"Mitchell, I want you to bite me when you come" Anders gasped.

Involuntarily, Mitchell bucked his hips hard when the meaning of Anders’ words washed through him in a hot wave. Anders grabbed his arse and placed a bruising kiss on Mitchell's shoulder while the thought hooked the vampire in all its repulsiveness and appeal. Tasting his blood when he came undone, riding out that high again, the perfect syncing of sex and blood... and he didn't even have to ask: the offer was on the table and there was no shame in taking it. He only needed to bite Anders. Break his skin, tear a vein, add another bruise to the moving body he had used so many times.

"No," Mitchell panted and the beast inside cried out in frustration, "I don't want to hurt you anymore.”

He kissed the spots on Anders’ throat, a reminder to his promise.

"Don't hold back. I already wear your marks all over my body. I want you to claim me fully." Anders tangled his fingers in Mitchell's hair and tugged lightly, “Make me yours.”

"Anders, I..." Anders' throaty moan cut him off as he hit his prostate once more with a hard jerk. The god threw his head back and Mitchell trailed kisses along his throat.

"Do it," Anders’ words reverberated through him, "Mitchell, I need it."

Without a chance to fight it, Mitchell’s eyes switched to black and his fangs protruded. The last shred of rationality made him withdraw from Anders throat but the next thing he knew was blood dripping from the god's waist onto his tongue. It ran down his throat like strong liquor, burning him from the inside and spreading through his whole body. Every sensation became more intense, running into one another to create a pulsing energy that made Mitchell feel every cell of his lover. The salty taste on his tongue drew Mitchell in a whirl of intensity and made him push faster into Anders with messy and frantic movements.

Anders tightened his legs behind Mitchell and stroked his cock in time with the vampire's thrusts, barely holding on. His eyes were wide open in pleasure and it were the god's eyes that gave Mitchell a constant in the rush. They were golden again with a dark stain dancing in them. Mitchell kissed him, all teeth and tongue and then his hips stuttered. Every move made Anders utter those dark growls of pleasure Mitchell couldn't get enough of and he came into the god with his body feeling on fire, the stain in the golden eyes staring back at him, not dark anymore but wearing a strangely familiar face with strong features, black eyes and framed by messy curls. Before he could understand, Anders closed his eyes, pressed his face in the crook of Mitchell’s neck and came on the waves of the vampire’s orgasm. His back arched and Mitchell closed his lips around Anders' right nipple, rolling his tongue over it and coaxed another jolt out of the god. His lips left smudges of blood on Anders’ torso. The god fell back on the sheets and Mitchell collapsed on top of him, breathing heavily into his shoulder and stroking through his hair.

 

*****

 

The rush shooting through his veins had died down to a tolerable level when he rolled off Anders and onto his side. Anders lay on his back, his shivers had stopped but he was still catching his breath. Mitchell reached out and ran his hand along Anders' side, careful not to touch the wound that had stopped bleeding. Anders turned his head with effort, looking at Mitchell tired but relaxed. It was still there, Mitchell noticed with curiosity, the god's eyes weren't as golden as before but the shimmer still resided in them.

“Your eyes, they are...” Mitchell murmured and tried to catch the picture on Anders' irises before it faded. The shadows’ eyes staring back at him weren't solely black as he noticed now but rather accentuated with gold in the form of a circle. The lips in this face were covered in blood and the fangs hadn't retracted yet. There was no denying it – what he was seeing in Anders' eyes was his mirror image.

Anders' lids fluttered shut and he breathed a sleepy sigh.

“No, please...” Mitchell begged, “please open your eyes for me.”

Anders' answer was a strained mumble but he followed without question.

In wonder, Mitchell stared at the reflection he hadn't seen in over 80 years. Despite the vampire features he could see the human he had once been, John, with his light skin and dark eyebrows, the strong nose and stubbly jaw, the unruly curls dancing about his head like snakes. John, the Irish lad who worked hard and was friendly with half the village, who tried to take care of his family and had a crush on the neighbour's boy.

Mitchell felt the black turn back to its dark green with the last blink and the same second Anders blue eyes were back in place.

Disappointment grew in Mitchell but then he saw how wretched Anders looked. Still covered in blood and semen, exhausted to the maximum he lay there, keeping his eyes open because Mitchell had asked him to. Anders was the priority, Mitchell put his own feelings in perspective. He had all the time in the world to think about what had happened but Anders had lived through more in the last twelve hours than most people deal with in their entire lives.

“Sleep now,” Mitchell whispered, gently running his fingers through Anders' hair, “you're safe here.”

Anders faintly nodded with closed eyes and Mitchell moved to get up, the residue of the high keeping him awake.

“Don't leave me,” Anders murmured and stretched out his arm.

 _Never_. Mitchell sat back on the bed, taking Anders' hand.

“I won't.” He pressed a soft kiss on his chapped lips. “Just let me get a towel.”

 Anders grumbled and reluctantly let go of Mitchell's hand.

Mitchell made sure to move fast. He cleaned himself up quickly and couldn't help but throw a look into the mirror of the bathroom cabinet – nothing. Obviously. Shaking his head he soaked a cloth in warm water and returned to the bedroom. Anders lay like he had left him but his chest was moving in deep breaths now, sleeping soundly. Not to wake him, Mitchell stepped lightly next to the bed.

He ran the cloth over Anders' body, watching to not put pressure on the bruises. Every mark representing a possibility to see his reflection. How strange it had been. Almost uncanny. Monsters weren't supposed to see themselves and what had met Mitchell's eyes had been something in between. A vampire with human features. Or a human with vampiric features? Carefully, he cleaned the fresh wound on Anders' side. Whichever way you put it: It wasn't worth it. He couldn't continue to hurt the god for a quick rush and a glimpse of a long forgotten time.

Mitchell sighed and fixed the blanket over Anders before slipping under the covers next to him. He was still too wired to sleep but he also didn't have any desire to go on a hunt for kicks. In fact, the blood lust hadn't arisen apart from the first moment of temptation. No, Mitchell's mind had been preoccupied with thoughts of protection and revenge. _Which I will get_. Ivan was probably a more pressing problem at the moment but Mitchell wouldn't allow himself to forget the Johnsons.   He had not even wanted to drink from Anders but he had insisted, for unknown reasons. Regardless, the fact remained that he, Mitchell, could do it. Get off Anders' blood. Keep him safe. And figure out what to do about the fine mess they were in.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh and we have a tumblr now, too http://ninetiesnecklace.tumblr.com


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders isn't exactly a stranger to weird mornings but this is a first: awkwardness, cuddling and a insisting reality that pierces their bubble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real life got in the way of writing and drawing so apologies for the late update.  
> Have a bit of fluff after all that exhausting tension :)
> 
> Beta-read and illustrated as always by my ConsultingFili.

Anders scrunched up his nose as the tickling on his face got through to his mind. He closed his eyes a little tighter and pressed his face into the crook of Mitchell's neck with a sleepy huff. Damn those curls that kept him from getting another hour of sleep which he dearly needed. Anders didn't dare to move more than necessary – sleep and the residue of alcohol kept his limbs heavy and hopefully numb for a while longer before the hangover of a lifetime would catch up with him. The dull cloud his head was wrapped in allowed for minimal movement and so Anders scooted closer to Mitchell who was snoring softly on his back. He was warm for a change, the bare skin of his torso pleasantly soft to Anders' touch. The blanket was tangled with his and Mitchell's legs, only covering them up to their hips but Anders couldn't move to pull it up if he wanted to. Besides, he was warm enough lying on his stomach with his left side draped over Mitchell.

Maybe yesterday just didn't happen. Maybe he had never met with his family, had never been accused of being delusional. Maybe he hadn't gotten drunk (although the throbbing that started behind his temples pointed towards the contrary) and maybe, just maybe he hadn't threatened first Mitchell and then himself with a stake.

Anders remembered it all. The sharp edge to his emotions and sensations had vanished but the knowledge was there. He recalled the fear of madness as well as his self-destructive streak. But also the trust he had build on Mitchell, their night together and the blood. There was so much left to think through but he didn't have to deal with any of it if he just lay here for eternity, in the vague limbo between sleep and wake where nothing really meant anything.

 

 

Anders was on the verge of dozing off again when Mitchell gave a sleepy murmur and moved slowly. He lifted his left arm as far as he could with Anders lying on it and caught a few strands of the blond wayward hair, letting it slowly glide through his fingers.

“Mornin'...” he said without the word making it out of his throat fully. Anders looked up and saw Mitchell blinking at him with dark green eyes, slightly clouded by sleep but gaining more focus by the second.

The fact that Anders could actually see the different shades of green did it. They were lying close together – _very_ close. What the fuck was he doing here? Mitchell's fingers were drawing gentle circles on Anders' neck and the pleasant shiver he had felt before turned into strange discomfort. Gone was the peaceful state Anders had reveled in. The circles seemed to become nooses wrapping themselves around his throat.

All of this was way too intimate to be comfortable and his instinct screamed at him to make a run for it as long as he could. In a rash movement, Anders rolled on his back. Away from Mitchell's warmth and making sure there were a good few inches between them.

Or so he had planned it.

A groan escaped his lips when he moved. His world started spinning and a flash of white pain shot through his head with brutal intensity, leaving a trail that throbbed for a moment longer before it reluctantly subsided.

Maybe he should've just played dead a little longer. Not only for his head but to avoid the entire situation. He would've sneaked out when Mitchell had taken a shower. Granted, it wouldn't have been an honorary exit but at least he wouldn't have had to face Mitchell and a possible rejection. But there was no helping it now – they both were awake and Anders hadn't exactly eased up the situation with his strong reaction as he was starting to realise. How the hell was he supposed to react after all that had happened the night before? He may well still be a one-night-stand for Mitchell, despite the crazy way that had led Anders to his bed. Words spoken in the protective coat of night rarely withstood the light of morning. Anders knew because he was usually the one to speak those words. The reversal of the roles made him uneasier than any intimacy by Mitchell could.

“How are you feeling?” Mitchell asked with sincerity and let go of Anders, accepting the newly-installed distance between them without comment. He propped himself up on his elbow and looked at Anders inquiringly without any hint of fatigue left in his appearance. Well, Mitchell hadn't downed the better part of a liquor store the night before but it was still unfair how fit he looked, Anders thought.

“I'm okay,” he lied flat out and averted his eyes from Mitchell, staring at the ceiling. This position was luckily also the least painful. He could easily stay like this for the next year or so while recovering from the hangover and the strange proximity. And recovering was definitely in order: his words sounded awfully croaky in Anders' own ears. It was a small miracle that he could even utter a sound, judging by the dry and raw state of his throat.

“No offense but I don't do cuddling,” Anders said. Hastily, he added, “Mate.”

How easily he fell back into the role he was so accustomed to. Don't show weakness, remain dominant, keep anyone an arms-length apart; physically and emotionally. If he acted first he was the one to instate the boundaries – and Mitchell had no basis to ridicule him. Bragi's influence on his life hadn't been all bad.

No sound came from the other side of the bed so Anders turned his head, carefully this time. Mitchell hadn't moved but continued to look at him with a smile in his eyes.

“Well, _mate_ ,” Mitchell teasingly picked up Anders' term of nonchalance, “do you do water and painkillers?“

“Oh god, yeah,” Anders groaned.

With a chuckle, Mitchell got up – dressed in pyjama bottoms, much to Anders' dismay – and stopped at the closet to pull out another pair for the blond before making his way to the kitchen.

That could've been worse, Anders thought and slipped on the pants with careful movements as not to upset his head again. He hadn't exactly expected Mitchell to kick him out of bed without another word but the amount of help he was offering still came as a surprise. Anders' tense muscles relaxed as he lay back on the cushions. Maybe he had misinterpreted the situation and fabricated the awkwardness himself seeing as Mitchell was perfectly at ease.

With the vampire rummaging in the kitchen Anders had the chance to take a look around. The room was small but cosy, the bed taking up most of the space. To his left, lazy grey morning light filtered through the drawn blinds while the right side was occupied by a closet. It was a little tidier than the main room but still quite messy with clothes lying around and old movie posters peeling off the walls, a guitar leaned onto an amp and records collecting dust. Just how many vinyls did this man have? Amused by the thought of Mitchell raiding flea markets to stock up on his favourite albums from back in the day Anders shook his head but regretted the movement immediately. His head felt like it might burst any moment now and the throbbing behind his eyes made him forget the entertaining image he had conjured.

When his world had settled again he saw Mitchell standing at the side of the bed, holding a glass and a bottle of water in one arm and wrapped chocolate and a carton of orange juice in the other. If Anders weren't in so much pain he would've been amazed once more at the silence with which Mitchell moved. Instead, he just lay still and tried a weak smile in Mitchell's direction, half-apologetic, half-embarrassed.

“Found the meds,” Mitchell said, “But you need to eat something first.”

“My stomach's fine. I won't be sick.”

“Yes, you will. Here,” he tossed Anders a chocolate bar and placed water and orange juice on the nightstand.

“And the painkillers are....” Anders said, hopeful to down at least a handful of them as quickly as possible.

“Right here,” Mitchell took a package out of his pocket and waved it at Anders. “You'll get them after you've eaten.”

Anders could swear that the hint of a self-satisfied grin sat at the edges of Mitchell's mouth. Resistance seemed futile and the blond sat up far enough to take a gulp of the orange juice. “It's becoming somewhat of a tradition that you feed me chocolate in bed.”

“And it's somewhat a tradition that you conk out on me. Let's not keep doing that part.”

“Okay.”

Anders unwrapped the chocolate bar while Mitchell climbed back into bed and leaned on the cushions, watching Anders chew away at the candy. He had retained a fair distance between them, Anders noticed, but his body was turned towards him with his left hand casually fixing the blanket.

“There,” Anders swallowed the last bit of chocolate, “All done.”

“Good boy.”

“How about those painkillers now?” Anders asked and struggled to keep the begging out of his voice.

Mitchell smirked lightly, took the package out of his pocket and popped a pill onto his palm. Then, he placed it between his teeth and leaned towards Anders.

“Really?” Anders tried to sound skeptical – which wasn't easy as Mitchell only smiled with a cheeky twinkle in his eyes. God, that man was beautiful. Even more so when his full lips curled into a grin and his face lit up, leaving all intensity behind. The skin around his eyes crinkled and the slightest hint of a dimple formed in his left cheek. Anders tried to unite this view with the contrasting image of the brooding vampire he was so used to – an endeavour that failed spectacularly.

He leaned on his right arm, closing the distance to the Irishman. Anders carefully grazed Mitchell's lips while his tongue took hold of the pill and he swallowed it somewhat greedily in the same instant. He could feel Mitchell's smile against his mouth and the playful nip at his lips, an open challenge for Anders to decide.

Without a second thought Anders kissed him, softly but confident. Mitchell's lips parted willingly for him and the faint taste of tobacco mixed with the chocolate flavour that still lingered in Anders' mouth. His heartbeat quickened at the sensuality of the touch, the slow intensity that brought back the memories of last night and tempted Anders to make new ones.

This wasn't a kiss you'd share with a one-night-stand, Anders realised. Having Mitchell so close to him was a gift. This man, who could surely have his pick of partners of any sex, had chosen him. Mitchell had seen the worst of him and still didn't kick him out of bed at first light. Quite the contrary.

Anders' fingers travelled lightly over Mitchell's shoulder blade and the vampire pulled him closer with a determined hand at the small of his back. The blond moved closer until he could feel the chilly metal from Mitchell's dog tags on his chests. This was the bubble he needed, a safe reality in which Anders just enjoyed kissing the man who had saved his life without any complication bothering them.

Anders only opened his eyes when they broke the kiss. This time, seeing the different shades of green in Mitchell's eyes didn't scare him.

“I knew you'd come around,” Mitchell said with another of those gorgeous cheeky smiles.

“This isn't cuddling,” Anders weakly protested and let his hand slide over Mitchell's back to the curve of his hip.

“Lucky me, then, for not insisting on cuddling.”

“You're awfully smug, you know that?”

“So I'm told.”

Anders lightly bit Mitchell's lip, breathed in the little sound of protest the vampire gave and kissed him again with a chuckle. This new side of Mitchell fascinated him, the playful kisses with a dash of desire went directly to his head and eased all pressure he had felt before. Mitchell wrapped his arms around Anders and to his own surprise, the god settled comfortably into the embrace. It felt natural somehow, his body pressed to Mitchell's leaner frame, their legs entangled and Anders' fingers playing with the dark curls.

For a while, they didn't speak. Mitchell fixed the blanket over them and held Anders close, still careful to not graze the bruises. The blond relaxed under Mitchell's gentle touch, their slow kisses taking him back to the safety of the moment. _Make me yours_ , his own words rang in his ears. Maybe last night had been necessary to make him realise. He had wanted Mitchell to claim him and the vampire had, a deal sealed in sweat and blood. The vampire and the god, the stuff of legends. Anders smiled at that and felt Bragi stir.

Mitchell placed a gentle kiss on Anders' hair and cupped his cheek, thumbing through his beard.

“What do you remember?” he asked softly.

“Everything.” Anders hesitated for a moment and ran his fingers over Mitchell's chest, over his heart. “I nearly hurt you. I'm so sorry.”

“You don't need to apologise.”

“But I...”

“It's fine, Anders. You had every reason to be angry.” Mitchell paused and added in a lower voice, “You still have.”

Mitchell's anger at his family was still sparked but Anders appreciated that he didn't press the matter. The open statement reassured the god that it was up to him to decide when to discuss it. As far as Anders was concerned their worries were numerous and family matters held low importance in the bigger picture. In fact, he preferred to not think about his brothers at all. The knot that sat in his chest tightened with every thought he wasted on the meeting. Should Mitchell offer to harm them – Anders didn't trust himself with an answer to this just now.

“Thank you, Mitchell,” he said quietly, “for bringing me back.”

Mitchell leaned closer and pressed a deep kiss on Anders' mouth. His hands wandered over Anders' back, leaving a tingling trail that had the god craving for more of his gorgeous lover.

“You're so much stronger than you know,” Mitchell whispered into Anders' ear.

“I wish I could believe you,” Anders voice wavered. He didn't _feel_ strong. Sure, he was not as common as a human. There was Bragi in his head and on his tongue but in comparison to Mitchell or any vampire Anders considered himself embarrassingly weak. His struggle to escape Ivan and Mitchell when they had first met was still present in his mind. If it hadn't been for his blood he wouldn't have survived and that was hardly a feature Anders could put to his name. “I don't have fangs or strength like you.”

“You don't need that. You have a power that kicks in before you need fangs.” Anders remained silent and Mitchell kissed the sensitive skin behind his ear. A pleasant shiver ran through the god. Anders felt Mitchell smile and his warm breath washed over his skin as he continued in a murmur.

“I am a predator covered in other people's blood. I bare my fangs, my eyes turn black and even if my victims can't name what I am it's plainly visible, a direct threat. But before, I need to get close to them. I invade their personal space and have to keep them unaware of their fate by any means necessary until I'm but an inch away from their veins. It's a strange kind of intimacy. Not only in physical terms. Because the moment I bite down their real personality shows. Do they fight back? Do they roll over and die? In a way I know them better than any of their lovers, friends or family did. It's the epitome of truthfulness. Their blood tells me the rest. It tastes of hope, of fear, of desperation.”

Mitchell's finger grazed Anders' pulse lightly, impossible to say whether on purpose or accidentally. Anders pressed his hips a little closer to Mitchell, his body remembering the arousing feeling of Mitchell's mouth sucking his blood and leaving a possessive mark on him. The blond briefly wondered what he must taste like to give Mitchell such a rush.

“I use brute force and sharp teeth to get my way. In the end it comes down to physicality, a bar brawl taken up a level. It's effective but ugly. But you...,” Mitchell looked Anders in the eyes, “your power is intricate. You don't need to fight physically. Your mouth opens and a string of enchanted words leaves your tongue, piercing its way through your victims' free will. No one can resist your influence once you've set your mind to it. You truly are a god among mere men, Anders. You create your own reality without hacking and slashing your way through the world. No one notices as you talk people into doing your bidding.”

Soft lips met his and Mitchell's tongue gently explored Anders' mouth, taking his time. The blond slowly ran one hand over Mitchell's back to the curve of his arse while the other one reached for those unruly locks that curled around his fingers like snakes. In Anders' head, Bragi hummed in appreciation of Mitchell's words.

It was true, Anders thought, even in this watered-down state he was powerful. Arguably more powerful than his brothers. He had never consciously thought about it but Mitchell was right: his power _was_ intricate. For all their physical ability his brothers couldn't use it to the extend he could. He didn't need a certain situation or be careful about employing his power in case someone noticed. All he had to do was make sure the person focussed on him. With Bragi's help he was able to turn nearly everyone into whatever he wanted the person to be. They were his toys, his puppets on strings if he decided to act on it.

Mitchell's slow kiss still lingered on Anders' lips when the vampire continued to talk, his voice a little raspier than before.

“Creatures like us, we can't be confined. There aren't chains strong enough to keep us. We are dangerous on our own – now just imagine what we could achieve together.” His eyes flashed in a darker green than before and drew Anders in as he drank up Mitchell's words. He had always thought in immediate terms when it came to Bragi but here was the vampire, offering opportunities he never had considered. Mitchell's tone became even deeper, the rough accent softened by the touch of his hands on Anders' back. “You talk and I fight. Your voice and my fangs, Anders. We complete each other. The world is _ours_ for the taking. We take what we want and we get what we need. There will be no one to stand in our way or hold us down.”

Anders swallowed hard. His throat had become dry as he followed Mitchell's beautiful vision of the world – their world.

“Freedom,” Anders whispered, the word rough in his throat. Gone would be the days of Mike shoving him around. No more Axl who attacked and accused him, heaping up guilt on his brother's shoulders. Anders wouldn't have to suffer through his family's every little sensitivity anymore. He'd be done with enduring all those arguments only because facing himself on his own would have been the scarier option.

Now he could make a real choice. Because he had Mitchell.

A small smile played around Mitchell's lips and Anders felt the urge to keep it there for as long as possible.

“Only you and me, my love,” Mitchell said in a low voice, “and anything we can imagine.”

Anders ran his right hand along Mitchell's arm and interlaced their fingers. “Only you and me.”

 

*****

 

The morning passed slowly and without many words. Neither of them was in a hurry to leave the refuge they had created and so they remained under the covers to shut out the world a little longer. Wrapped in Mitchell’s arms Anders dozed off again but wasn't too far gone to miss the sweet words Mitchell murmured half-awake against his neck from time to time. The Irish accent rumbled in his ear and draped itself around Anders like another blanket, tucking him in and assuring him that he was safe here. Mitchell's skin felt wonderfully warm and firm under his hands and the last thing Anders remembered before he eventually fell asleep was the soothing feeling of Mitchell's curls tickling his cheek.

When he woke up Mitchell was still there and Anders pulled him closer, drowsily breathing in his earthy scent and placing soft, longing kisses on his lips. Gentle hands moved over exposed skin and under waistbands, rolling hips came together and slowly moved in unison, sleepy huffs gave way to low breaths and muffled sounds of pleasure.

Only much later, after a shower and the first cup of black coffee, did Anders realise that Mitchell hadn't drunk from him.

 

*****

 

Mitchell looked up from the scrambled eggs he was preparing as Anders came into the kitchen.

“Well, well,” he grinned, “Don't you look fetching.”

The blond's torso was covered by a plaid button-down in dark red which clashed wonderfully with the striped pajama bottoms that hung low on his hips. The first and last two shirt buttons were open and with every other move a few golden curls showed.

“Don't get me started on your jeans,” Anders replied, “'skinny' doesn't even begin to describe it. I wonder how your cock is in working order being confined to pants-prison like that. Nah, this is much better.” He wiggled his hips in demonstration of the fabric's loose fit.

The Irishman chuckled. “And the combination is very fashionable.”

“Mitchell, while I'm all for style I had to decide between a good look and a functioning downstairs department,” Anders said in a mock-serious tone, taking delight in the smile that rested on Mitchell’s face, “and that is a choice easily made.”

“You're quite full of yourself, aren't you?” Mitchell asked teasingly. “Serves you right to struggle with skinny jeans. Though it is a shame to hide your perky arse in pyjama bottoms.”

“Well, I'm back to my own stuff soon anyway and then it's well-fitting suits again for you to admire,” Anders winked.

“Lucky me,” Mitchell grinned, “But you should probably stay here for another day or two. I'm afraid clothes-wise you have to make do with what I have.”

“So you want me to get in your pants?”

Mitchell snorted in amusement and turned his attention back to the stove. “I want you to get better. Although your humour seems in perfect condition.”

Before Anders had a chance to reply his mobile rang. The sound was sharp in his ears and the cheeky grin fell from his face as he flinched involuntarily.

Mitchell furrowed his brow. “Who's that?“

“Dawn,” Anders answered, somewhat relieved that none of the Johnsons tried to call him.

“The girl from the office?”

“Yes...” Anders stared at the display that blinked insistently. He had to pick up – none of this was Dawn's fault and yet she had to keep the office afloat again. She didn't deserve to be ignored only because she was a reminder of the reality outside Anders would've had gladly ignored for a while longer. Anders sighed deeply, got up and took a few steps towards the living room, away from the sizzling noises of the kitchen. With a forced smile he answered the phone.

“Good morning, Dawn, how are you toda-” He couldn't finish the sentence before she interrupted him in a sharp tone.

“ _Morning_? It's past lunchtime and that's late even for you. Anders, where are you? The vodka people have sent another change they want to see in the campaign and the deadline is frankly ridiculous, I mean how are we supposed to....”

“Dawn, calm down, ok?” Anders attempted to stop the avalanche of words Dawn buried him under.

“Calm down? I AM calm but you need to get here as soon as possible.”

“Yeah, about that... I can't come in today.”

“Why?”

Why indeed. Anders tried to give his voice a subtle change towards a more throaty sound. “I'm sick. In fact, it's pretty bad, so... I won't be around for a few days.”

He had a good feeling that his performance had been less than convincing but he knew Dawn – she'd let it slide. Silence greeted Anders from the other side of the line.

“Dawn?”

“You can't leave me alone with them, Anders,” Dawn sighed with an edge of panic, “you know how they are.”

“You'll do just fine, Dawnsie, most of the campaign was your idea anyway.”

“Why do I work for you again?”

“Because you're the best.”

“You owe me,” Dawn grumbled into the phone.

“I definitely do.”

“Remember that the next time I ask for a raise.”

“I'm a man of my word,” Anders said earnestly at which Mitchell threw him a grin from the kitchen.

“On another note,” Dawn continued in a more friendly tone, “Ty came by, he wanted to know where you were. He was quite unsettled. I think he worries about you. Make sure you call him.”

“I will. Thank you, Dawn.” Anders ended the call and threw his phone on the couch where it bounced once and slid in between two cushions.

 

“Are you okay?” Mitchell asked when he returned to the kitchen.

“Yeah...” Anders rubbed his hands through his face and felt exhaustion catching up with him, “Ty is looking for me.”

“Which one is he?”

“The one I actually like... Hod.”

“What does he want?” Anders could tell that Mitchell made an effort to keep the gruffness out of his voice.

“I don't know. But I'm fairly sure he acts on his own. Mike could easily find me if he wanted to.” A sigh built up in Anders' throat.

“Let's hope he doesn't want to and steers clear of here.”

“He will. Mike's done with me.”

“Yeah, well, I'm not done with him,” Mitchell grabbed two plates out of the overhead cupboard and slammed them on the counter with more force than necessary, “and Ivan isn't either.”

“Mhm.” Anders crossed his arms and leaned on the counter, staring at the floor. Mitchell's barely contained aggression made him uneasy and he wished they could just go back to bed and silly pants jokes.

Mitchell was still busying himself with the pan, hacking away at the scrambled eggs. “The way things are we need to act soon.”

“I know,” Anders said so quietly that Mitchell looked up in surprise. “But I can't deal with that just now, Mitchell. Can we talk about it tomorrow?”

Mitchell's expression grew milder. “Of course. I'm sorry.” He streched out his arm and Anders was pulled in close. Mitchell softly kissed his lips. “I didn't mean to upset you. Why don't you make yourself comfortable on the couch? I'll bring the food over.”

Anders nodded thankfully. Mitchell was right: their situation wasn't getting any easier by putting it off but the sole thought of talking about Ivan or his brothers had Anders' throat tightening. No, what he needed was a day off, no matter how stupid that sounded.

Anders sat down on the couch and a moment later Mitchell came sauntering in, a tablet with two plates of steaming breakfast and two cups of coffee in his hands.

“That looks good,” Anders said and his stomach gave a growl. Mitchell's face lit up in a smile, no trace of his earlier anger remained.

“Hang on,” he said and clicked his finger, “I forgot the salt.”

When he came back from the kitchen Mitchell shortly stopped at the window and looked outside.

“Everything alright?” Anders asked, trying to place the strange look on Mitchell's face. _Not another problem, please._

“I thought I saw someone,” Mitchell furrowed his brow and craned his neck to check, “But it's nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. No need to worry.” Anders relaxed at Mitchell's reassuring tone. “Must've been a cat that crawled through the hedgerow or something. Anyway,” Mitchell placed the salt shaker on the table and let himself fall on the couch next to Anders, “let's get some food in you and move as little as possible today. We'll take it easy. And because you're such a delightful house guest you can choose whether you'd like to watch Casablanca or Laurel and Hardy later on.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Anders cleared his throat. 'Well, we could talk about it. You know, Ivan. And what to do. Maybe figure out a plan.'"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're still around: thank you! I didn't have time to write these past weeks but was somehow full of words and then this chapter with well over 10,000 words happened. I hope it makes up for the long wait :) 
> 
> I tried some sort of stream-of-consciousness thing so if it doesn't work, don't be mad - it was just a one-time experiment.
> 
> Anyway, without further ado: I hope you enjoy the new chapter and ConsultingFili's illustration!

Mitchell had kept his promise and all sensitive subjects were not only avoided but actively postponed. They spent the day lounging on the couch (even to himself Anders refused to call it cuddling – it was more hanging out in close proximity for comfort as far as he was concerned, nothing of that lovey-dovey crap. It felt nice, though) and watching old films. They laughed along to Laurel and Hardy in unison; Anders in a gleeful chuckle that ran through his entire body and had him shaking, Mitchell with loud roaring laughs that brought tears to his eyes before the punchline had even happened. Every once in a while Anders stole a kiss from Mitchell that was gladly given, accompanied by a soft smile on the brunet’s lips that reassured Anders more than words could.

The pizza they ordered was surprisingly good (“Good? Mate, this is the best pizza in town, I swear by my fangs!”) and they treated themselves to a couple of beers Mitchell offered to make Anders’ “day off“ as relaxed as possible. With a warm dinner in his stomach and a vague feeling of content, Anders let himself be pulled into Mitchell’s arms and leaned comfortably against his chest. So comfortably that he was dozing off somewhere around the last third of Casablanca. “Let's go to bed,” Mitchell murmured in his ear. Anders was too tired to even utter a coherent lewd comment and followed Mitchell to the bedroom, his hands never quite leaving the Irishman.

The clean sheets betrayed nothing of the scene that had taken place there 24 hours earlier. Fresh linen mixed with Mitchell’s scent lured Anders in and resting his head in the crook of Mitchell's neck, he fell asleep to gentle fingers running through his hair.

 

*****

 

Mitchell stepped out of the shower, running a towel through his hair and then fastening it around his waist. He left the bathroom and walked to his closet, randomly picking out clothes while listening to Anders rummaging around in the kitchen. From the sound of it he was making coffee. Mitchell smiled. It's been ages since he had someone stay over long enough to raid his cupboards for mugs.

The simple fact that Anders hadn't decided to stay in bed this morning was a good thing. From what Mitchell could tell he had slept soundly enough to be rested, without uneasy tossing and turning or nightmares. Anders had spent nearly the entire night in his arms, only giving the occasional drowsy sigh. Yesterday's easy-going approach had surely been good for Anders, a possibility to take his mind off the stress and misery that had piled up around them. Hell, a day on the couch had been good for both of them. Mitchell wasn’t immune to the tension of their situation either: he still felt bad about bringing up Ivan and the Johnsons. The gentle episode of domestic bliss that had followed had lifted his spirits, too. Somehow, in the middle of all this chaos of gods and vampires and blood, they had created their own utopian space if only for a while. It wasn't perfect and Anders’ issues were certainly far from resolved but the stake incident was a thing of the past and the blond was somewhat on the mend. Things were looking up.

If it wasn't for the vague tickling sensation at the back of Mitchell's throat.

Mitchell put on his jeans, fought with the belt for a second and grabbed a grey long-sleeve and his gloves. He sat down on the bed and ran his hand through his damp hair while listening to the spluttering sounds the coffee machine spat from the kitchen.

It wasn't too bad, he thought and swallowed as if to test whether the feeling would disappear. Not so much blood lust as a certain appetite. It was there and it made sure Mitchell didn’t forget but it lacked the insistence of actual hunger. He could probably go without blood for another day or two without getting anxious. By that time Anders would hopefully have recovered enough that Mitchell could go out and hunt. Alone. He had a feeling that it was only a matter of time until Anders offered his blood once more. And before that happened Mitchell needed to be well-fed.

 _I want you to bite me when you come. Mitchell, I need it._ The memory of those husky words was enough to start a tingle in Mitchell’s lower abdomen. Anders had nearly begged to be bitten when he was writhing in the sheets and Mitchell still tried to make heads and tails of that mixture of desire and shame he had felt before biting down. Yet the need in Anders’ voice had been the most striking thing about that entire night. It seemed Anders was as bad at keeping sex and feeding separate as Mitchell himself. But whatever the god’s reasons, Mitchell had sworn to stop drinking from Anders and he intended to keep his word – regardless of Anders’ kink. Once he figured out what it was about the feeding that made Anders tick Mitchell was sure he could find another way to provide it and get him off just as well without having to hurt him.

And it had worked, that morning they had spent in bed. No appetite had shown beyond the one he could satisfy without hurting Anders. The blood lust had been under control and Mitchell could just enjoy the moment for what it had been. It may have been a small victory given that he had fed from Anders not ten hours before but a victory nonetheless. The important thing was that it was possible – which Mitchell planned to focus on.

But first he had to check on Anders. If he was a little better they maybe could start discussing a plan. If not, however, it would be another day of movies and rest for them. He knew better than to rush things and bring up what Anders desperately tried to forget.

Mitchell followed the smell of fresh coffee to the kitchen and leaned on the doorframe, watching Anders pour the black liquid into two mugs.

He looked good, Mitchell thought. His skin wasn't sickly pale anymore but had gone back to its usual fresh glow. His eyes were a clear blue and the dark circles had vanished, making Anders look well rested. _At least his body is visibly recovering._

“Morning, curly-haired beauty,” Anders grinned and pressed a mug into Mitchell's hand with a fluent and steady movement. Despite the comment he didn't seem hyper and Mitchell noted that down on the plus side. Just like the little shy kiss Anders placed on his lips.

“Morning, my love,” Mitchell joined their play of normality, “how did you sleep?”

“Very well. I'm glad you don't snore too loudly.”

“I don't snore at all.”

Anders only raised an eyebrow and sat down at the kitchen table where he had laid out toast, butter, jam, a few slices of cheese and cold cuts.

“I took the liberty of raiding your fridge.”

“A little meagre, I know,” Mitchell said with an apologetic shrug and sat down opposite Anders, “haven’t had much time to do shopping lately.”

“I’m not bothered as long as there’s coffee.”

 

*****

 

After their late breakfast Anders sauntered down the way to the bathroom, already taking off his shirt, and for a second Mitchell thought of joining him in the shower – only to push the idea away again when his mind provided the fitting image of blood being washed down the drain.

He sighed, annoyed, got out his tobacco and began to roll himself a cigarette. Not that he could shake the thought of fucking Anders in the shower entirely. Maybe if he just sucked him off. It would be perfect: a nice addition to this lovely morning for both of them. Anders would surely appreciate it and he wouldn’t pick up on what was really on Mitchell’s mind. The world is a bad enough place and what could a blowjob trigger, really? Mitchell huffed at his desperate attempts to justify himself. Bullshit. He knew better than anyone that he couldn’t resist once he entered the shower. There was no use in tempting himself and jeopardise his control.

He stuck the cigarette between his lips and lit it while wandering over to the little balcony adjacent to the living room. It wasn’t big enough to accommodate more than one chair but then again, Mitchell rarely was in a situation which would require that. He leaned on the railing, inhaled deeply and let his eyes wander over the grey street that stretched out beyond him. No one there. Good. He really must have imagined the movement outside last night. Maybe this confinement to his little flat with two people started to get to him.

He flicked the ash over the side of the balcony and noticed with gratification that it landed in his downstairs neighbours’ flower bed. He took a last drag, let the smoke pass between his lips and sucked it back in through his nostrils. Mitchell turned and drew in a sharp breath when faced with Anders standing behind him.

“Jesus, Anders,” Mitchell said and took an instinctive step back, “you startled me.”

“Really?” Anders grinned, dimples forming in his cheek, “I thought your kind was difficult to scare.”

“Not if you sneak up on me like the fucking Phantom Blot,” Mitchell rubbed through his face. His heart was still pounding faster than it should and he gave Anders an irritated look.

“I’m Batman if we go by colour scheme and cut,” Anders answered and drew Mitchell’s attention to his outfit.

He was wearing one of Mitchell’s few black dress shirts, carefully buttoned but not all the way to the top. The arms were rolled up and his legs were clad in black skinny jeans, the hem turned up for length. He was barefoot and his skin still looked flushed from the hot water, all heated blood surging through his veins. Anders looked very much… alive, Mitchell thought.

“You know that black clothing doesn’t make you Batman, right?” Mitchell couldn’t help but chuckle, all earlier jumpiness forgotten.

“What do you mean, make?” Anders asked in perfect innocence.

“Mhm, whatever you say, god of poetry. As long as I don’t have to pose as Robin.”

“I haven’t decided that yet but I’ll let you know. Speaking of fighting crime: I was wondering if you’d like another cup of coffee and then maybe we could… uh…”

“We could… what?” Mitchell asked confused when Anders didn’t go on, not quite connecting the vague gestures the blond made to fighting crime.

Anders cleared his throat. “Well, we could talk about it. You know, Ivan. And what to do. Maybe figure out a plan.”

“Oh. Yeah, sure,” Mitchell ran his hand through his hair and looked at Anders intently, “But only if you feel well enough to do that.”

Anders nodded. “I think so. We need to do something. Let’s just take it step by step and see how far we get.”

 _Another good thing I can focus on_. Mitchell couldn’t help but admire Anders’ courage to broach the subject in the first place after only a brief break. They could start to move things along and finally deal with Ivan – after Mitchell will have hunted. He took a step towards Anders and softly kissed him, the feeling of his lips pleasantly familiar and calming. _It’ll be fine._

“In that case,” Mitchell smiled and gestured to the doorframe, “after you.”

 

*****

 

Again they sat at the kitchen table, each with a mug of steaming coffee in front of them. Mitchell simply sat back and rolled another cigarette to keep his hands occupied while waiting for Anders to start talking.

Finally, Anders took a deep breath and looked at Mitchell. “Okay, so... maybe we should start with the basics.”

Mitchell nodded, eager to support Anders’ somewhat hushed words, and even managed to flash a short smile that softened the blond’s stern expression.

“From what we discussed before we know that Ivan wants us gods dead. Or more to the point, Odin.”

“Right.” Mitchell licked the rolling paper and laid the cigarette next to his lighter and tobacco in front of him.

“And that’s because… he is sure that after Odin finds Frigg we'll become almighty and keep vampires as our pets?” Anders voice hitched a little at the last word and he saved himself in a nervous laugh.

 _Quite colourfully put_. “That’s about the size of it. He fears we'll be subjugated by you. That we lose our place on top of the food chain and our freedom, all in one go.”

“I'm not going into how ridiculous that is,” Anders huffed, then hesitated and threw Mitchell a questioning glance, “Do you believe any of that?”

Mitchell sighed and rested his arms on the table. “I don't know.”

It was actually a decent question, Mitchell had to admit. In the middle of this disaster he had barely had time to think about that. Since that first attack his world had only been blood, Anders, and keeping Ivan at least an arms-length away from both of them – literally and figuratively. His alliances had changed and the question whether Ivan was right or not had lost all its importance. By now, Mitchell wasn’t sure if it mattered anymore what he believed would happen.

He mussed up his curls, rubbing little scraps of tobacco into his hair without noticing and looked up at Anders.

“Not anymore I don’t. But when he came to me with this idea I thought it might be true. When Ivan sets his mind to something it’s usually well thought through. He’s quite… sophisticated, I guess, as vampires go. There was no real reason for me to doubt him. To be fair, I wasn’t too bothered about the, uh, task he had dug up. Mostly I just needed a new distraction and was more than happy to join in. Hunting with Ivan has... somewhat of a tradition.”

It had been Herrick who had turned Mitchell on that bloody battlefield but his allegiance had always been with Ivan. The glorious early days after Ivan had taken a shine to the young vampire, when he and Ivan had hunted together had marked the first time Mitchell had been truly free from his human morals – and Ivan had shown him just how enjoyable that could be. They wanted the same twisted things and had made a fantastic team in acquiring them. Ivan had told Mitchell all about his new lifestyle, how to hunt, how to make bodies disappear. Most importantly, he had taught Mitchell how to indulge in eternity without getting bored of all the repetition that a normal human life was coined by. With Ivan, anything had been exciting. Mitchell had been his apprentice and lover, even his friend. Tradition was a vague term to describe their past but Mitchell didn’t feel like exploring this further– especially not now when he was working up a plan to act against Ivan. He moved the mug to his lips and took a sip.

“Your hand is shaking,” Anders remarked when he set it back down.

Mitchell shrugged. “Too much coffee. Anyway, the point is that Ivan believes it. He’s convinced that you have a fucking master plan to push us off our imaginary throne.”

“He definitely doesn’t know my family,” Anders said with a sardonic smile. “Well, we stick to what we know.”

He lifted his right hand and started to count on his fingers. “One, I don't want to die. Two, you don't want me to die. That means that, three, we have to keep Axl alive because I'm bound to his lifespan.”

“Right.”

“You told Ivan that he won’t find Odin in my family but since you aren’t too friendly with each other at the moment he probably doesn’t believe you.”

“Yeah,” Mitchell ground his teeth at the memory of their last meeting, “At this point I’m pretty sure he believes no one but himself. He is searching out anyone who could be Odin, regardless of what I’ve told him.”

“So we can cut out the complications because really, it boils down to him,” Anders said with new enthusiasm, “We take care of Ivan in some way and be done with it. Go back to normal and hey, who knows, I might even take you out on a date some time!”

Seeing a glimmer of desperate hope in Anders’ eyes nearly broke Mitchell’s heart. What sounded like a throw-away comment to lighten the mood caught him off-guard: Anders still believed in a normal reality. All that had happened couldn’t shake his faith in returning to what he had known before, whatever that had been. Who was he to point out that there wouldn’t be a ‘normal’ for Anders for a long time coming?

Mitchell fumbled for the cigarette, lit it and cleared his throat. He avoided Anders’ gaze and small clouds of smoke left his mouth when he said, “It's not that easy.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Mitchell said slowly and took another drag, “Ivan is hard to kill.”

Anders gave a stifled huff. “Wow, mate.” He leaned towards Mitchell and made him meet his eyes, “I'm not talking of killing Ivan. Or anyone for that matter. That’s just…” His sentence trailed off and he shook his head.

How human, Mitchell thought with a faint tear in his stomach. He took in Anders’ rambling and his wide eyes. How were they supposed to arrive at a plan when Anders reacted that strongly to something that needed to be done?

“Mitchell, you can’t… I mean… he’s…” Anders still stuttered before he shut up with visible effort and took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, what I meant is distracting Ivan from us. Get him off our track. Somehow.”

“The only way to do that is killing him,” Mitchell said matter-of-factly. He let the words unfold and saw the panic vanish from Anders’ face as he started to wrap his head around the idea. Only when he was certain that Anders refusal wilted Mitchell went on in a calm voice.

“But I can't do that. Not even for you, Anders. He's an Old One.”

Anders seemed relieved that murder as a topic was off the table for now and tilted his head in question. “I haven’t seen him in a while but he looked moderately young to me.”

“No, an Old One. Capitalised.” Mitchell frowned, trying hard to concentrate and thinking of possibilities to explain. “He's like... the vampire elite, one of the ones who were turned long ago and are still around.”

Anders looked flat-out confused now. “Why wouldn't they be? I thought you lived forever?”

“Not dying takes its toll. Not everyone can stand it.” Mitchell put his cigarette out on a saucer and wrapped his hands around his mug before Anders could note that the shaking was becoming worse.

“Are you saying they kill themselves?” Anders’ tone was a curious mixture of wonder and terror and Mitchell felt oddly touched by the compassion that resonated. Despite being a god Anders was first and foremost human – this wasn’t a quality he discarded as soon as it came to strategic planning.

Mitchell nodded. “Some do. Some get caught up in feuds and killed. Others are executed by the Old Ones for crossing too many lines. You see, even in our society there must be some sort of authority or we’d set fire to this earth.”

Anders took a second to think about Mitchell’s explanation. “So Ivan is one of the important ones.”

“Exactly. This is why I can’t do it. If I killed him I'd be next in no time.”

Even though their hey-days were over Mitchell didn’t lend himself to illusions. If Ivan was found dead the other Old Ones would seek him out first and they surely wouldn’t have trouble locating him. Should that happen he better had a bulletproof alibi. In case they let him defend himself, that is. As an afterthought, Mitchell added, “Besides, we share quite a history.”

“I don't think sentimentalism is in order here,” Anders said with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s not sentimentalism,” Mitchell hissed before he could stop himself. How dare Anders trivialise his concerns about their so-called plan? It wasn’t his existence that was on the line here. He ground his teeth in frustration and shot Anders an angry glance. The blond had drawn his brows together in apprehension and seemingly tried to make sense of Mitchell’s outburst. In an effort to keep calm, Mitchell took a deep breath. It wasn’t fair to snap at Anders. He couldn’t know about vampire dynamics and consequences. This was not his world.

Mitchell lifted his right in an appeasing gesture. “It's respect.”

He nervously licked his lips at Anders’ expression. All emotion was drained from it and what was left had become a neutral mask with an inaccessible quality to it.

Anders sat perfectly still. “Did you fuck him?”

“What?”

“Ivan. Did you fuck him?”

That was definitely not the reaction Mitchell had anticipated. Anders’ tone was calm and he simply looked at Mitchell, waiting for an answer. Only his eyes were narrowed ever so slightly and Mitchell could hear his heart beat faster.

“We were lovers once, yes,” Mitchell said slowly, “a long time ago.”

Anders nodded, his jaw locked. He took a sip of his coffee and continued to stare at Mitchell over the rim of the mug. Mitchell’s muscles tensed up. The last thing he could use right now was a discussion about his past relationships. How did they even end up here? Mitchell was trying to piece together the last minutes of the conversation when Anders started to speak again.

“Would he kill you if he found out you are protecting me?”

There was no change in his neutral tone but Mitchell saw Anders relax a little. Thank fuck they were back to the important topic.

“Definitely.”

Mitchell didn’t have to think twice. Ivan didn’t take kindly to traitors. Not playing to the tunes of the other Old Ones was one thing but if Ivan had the feeling that Mitchell betrayed him personally he’d be done for in a hot second. Especially when he was this low on blood. All this stress wasn’t helping and a slight panic rose in his stomach when Mitchell realised that his prediction had been painfully wrong. He wasn’t even sure how to get through today without feeding, not to mention the next few days.

Anders had fallen silent and played with Mitchell’s lighter in deep thought. The metallic sound grated into the silence and the hiss of the flame resonated painfully within Mitchell’s head.

“Look, Anders,” he said, trying to keep his irritation at bay, “we need to tackle this another way. Me killing Ivan is out of the question.”

Grating. Hissing. Silence. “Maybe I can use Bragi.”

Mitchell considered for a moment, mildly surprised by Anders’ offer. He wasn’t wrong: they had more at their disposal than just fangs. But… Mitchell picked at his gloves nervously.

“I don’t know… What would you convince him of? We don't know how long the effect lasts on vampires. And I don't want you to get close to him. He's dangerous.”

Anders struck the metal wheel of the lighter again. “What if I used Bragi to distract him and someone else gets him?”

“Like who?” Mitchell asked apprehensively.

“I could get Colin to do it. Loki.”

“The god of lies?”

“Yeah, the trickster… and god of fire.” To illustrate his point Anders produced another flame from the lighter. “Charming combination.”

“Are you friends or why would he help us?”

Mitchell watched the lighter with narrowed eyes. Anders, following his gaze, stopped fidgeting with it and laid it on the table.

“Oh no, he loathes my family. But he’s had a few run-ins with vampires over the years. Colin loves grand gestures and seeing that Ivan is a renowned vampire I’m sure that he won’t pass up a chance to get his revenge.”

“I’m not sure.” Mitchell ran a gloved hand through his hair and squeezed his eyes shut. The sound of Anders’ blood rushing through his veins gradually gained volume in Mitchell’s ears, like a soundtrack to his addiction. Concentrate.

“Even if we get this far there'll be Daisy to take care of. His wife.”

At that, Anders threw Mitchell an astonished look. He made a mental note to tell Anders about him and Ivan at some stage to keep his imagination from running wild.

“Daisy is fierce. She won't hesitate to tear us to shreds. And she’d probably succeed.”

“And if we capture her to talk to Ivan?” Anders suggested and leaned back in his chair.

Mitchell shook his head. It was all so improbable and desperate, any attempt seemed to be shut down by another complication. There was no way around it. Mitchell’s head was throbbing by now and he crossed his arms to keep his hands from shaking. He would lose Anders to Ivan. He would be killed by the Old Ones.

“Anders, it won’t work. You need to understand: Daisy is retaliation in person. Hurt her and she will hunt you down. To the edge of the world if necessary. Same goes for hurting Ivan. And vice versa.”

Anders huffed in frustration. “Mitchell, work with me here, please. You know all that stuff and I'm just making it up as I go.”

Mitchell buried his head in his hands. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I just have this awful headache…”

“Would you like to take a break?” Anders offered and reached over the table to stroke Mitchell’s arm in sympathy.

“It’s okay. Let’s just get this over with.” Mitchell nodded slightly to make Anders go on.

The blond looked at him with worry in his eyes but continued to talk. “Okay. Do the other Old Ones know about your quest here?”

“No,” Mitchell breathed slowly and tried to stay focussed despite hearing Anders’ blood more distinctly now, “Ivan dug up the information and recruited me for the task. He figured we'd take care of it without backup. Seemed like a small enough problem to solve.”

“So they don't actually know what you're doing here.”

“No, but they'll notice if I kill Ivan.” Mitchell couldn’t keep his impatience out of his voice. They were going around in circles, weren’t they?

If Anders noticed his sharper tone he didn’t let it show. “But in theory: if we have Ivan and Daisy killed by someone other than a vampire – will the Old Ones care? If we stage it to look like a drunken fight or they turned a wrong corner or something...”

It took Mitchell a few seconds to decipher the meaning of Anders’ words. Stage it as an accident… the idea wasn’t brilliant but Anders’ approach of not involving vampires appealed to Mitchell.

“It might work,” he said, “but we need to plan this out extremely well. There's a reason Ivan's been around so long.”

“We will,” Anders nodded.

“Are you sure you can trust this Colin?”

“Of course not. He's a prick. But also the only one who could pull off something like that.”

“Uh... okay… can we... can we take a break?” Mitchell was squirming in his chair now, unable to keep still. _This wasn’t good_.

“Are you okay? You look a little worn-out.”

“I need fresh air.”

Mitchell pretty much darted out of his chair. He crossed the living room with large steps and tore open the door to the balcony, leaning heavily on the railing. He couldn’t do this. The whole plan was a disaster. Anders would get killed. He would get killed but before Ivan will surely have something planned for him. Mitchell’s breath came ragged and his entire body hurt, his skin even. He needed blood, now, but he knew was too weak to hunt. Hell, he couldn’t even stop his hands from shaking. How was he supposed to tear someone’s throat out? In any case he needed to get away from Anders. It wasn’t his fault that Mitchell was in this sorry state but it became more difficult to not take it out on the blond. Which was ridiculous in itself – Mitchell wanted to protect Anders at all cost. That was why he couldn’t give in to temptation and drink from Anders, no matter how loud his blood called to Mitchell. In frustration he hit the railing with the flat of his hand. “Fuck!”

“Mitchell?” Anders stuck his head out the door, “Do you-…”

“For God's sake, Anders, leave me a minute to myself, will you?” Mitchell hissed and turned to Anders, eyes flashing black and fangs protruding.

 

******

 

Anders stared at Mitchell, the vampire, all fangs and opaque eyes. The stuff of nightmares. Yet he wasn’t scared – no, what he felt was more surprise. Mitchell’s uneasy squirming had become worse over the course of their conversation but how bad must his shape be when he felt the need to pull the vampire card on him? Anders broke their eye contact and bent his head slightly before he stepped back into the living room with slow movements. Mitchell turned around again and began to pace around the little balcony in a few steps in each direction.

For lack of a better idea Anders sat down on the couch. Who knew how long Mitchell would take to calm down. If he calmed down. The optimism Anders had felt when they had been closing in on a plan was muted now but hadn’t vanished entirely. After all, the idea wasn’t too bad and he would gladly owe Colin a favour if it meant getting Ivan off his back. He could see why Mitchell would be wary since he didn’t know Colin but his reaction had been way too strong. This wasn’t the Mitchell who had cared for him the past two days. This was the beast.

Outside, Mitchell stood still for a longer while. Then, he turned around, ran his hand through his hair another time and came back into the room. Anders waited. The vampire came closer, still serious but not aggressive anymore.

“Anders.”

Anders looked up and green eyes, human eyes, met his. Mitchell stood in front of him with his head hung low and bent shoulders. He looked downright weak. Anders had seen that before: when Mitchell had turned up on his doorstep after talking to Ivan, craving a blood fix. The same unconscious erratic movements, the same paleness and worn-out look.

“I'm sorry I snapped at you. And the vamping out… I didn't mean to. I didn’t want to scare you. Or push you away. It's just... the stress is getting to me.”

Anders nodded, took Mitchell’s right hand and interlaced their fingers, rubbing softly over his gloved thumb. Without a word he pulled Mitchell to sit next to him on the couch.

Mitchell tucked one leg under and covered their hands with his left. When he spoke again the words spilled out of him.

“I’m just worried that it won’t work. I can’t let anything happen to you and putting you out there like that… what if Ivan isn’t distracted enough by Bragi? We don’t know how the vampire versus god thing actually works and just the thought of… of Ivan attacking you makes me so angry and…”

Anders pulled Mitchell into his arms. His words nearly cracked from pain that made Anders’ throat tighten. The Irishman carried the weight of both their worlds on his shoulders to protect him and all Anders could do was to try and keep him from stumbling – by any means possible.

Mitchell wound his arms around Anders’ waist and held on to him tightly, shivering from pain and hunger. Anders ran a soothing hand down his back. Each shiver resonated within him and with half a mind Anders wished Mitchell would just drink from him. Not for his own pleasure – to make Mitchell recover. But not only his body was weak, Anders thought, his mind needed support, too.

“I know,” he murmured against Mitchell’s curls, “I’m scared, too. But do you remember what you said yesterday?”

Mitchell shook his head, pressed against Anders’ chest. “You said that no one will stand in our way. That we are strong as long as we have each other. We are the ones in charge of our own fate.”

Mitchell gave a huff and Anders placed a kiss on the mop of unruly hair. “And not even someone like Ivan can change that.”

“You’re right,” came Mitchell’s muffled reply and he reluctantly let go of Anders, “I just feel so exhausted.”

“It’s not only stress, is it?” Anders asked quietly, “You need blood.”

Mitchell remained silent and once more avoided Anders’ gaze but fixing his eyes on their still interlaced fingers.

“This is like withdrawal for you.”

Mitchell sighed. “Yes, a little. I thought the hit would last longer…” His voice trailed off. “I need to go hunting soon.”

“Hunting?” Anders repeated in disbelief.

“Yeah,” he absently played with Anders’ fingers, not able to keep his hands still, “I don’t want to leave you here but...”

“Then don’t.” Anders’ voice had become husky and he saw Mitchell respond to it almost immediately. His head jerked up and a few stray curls bounced about his face. Dark eyes fixed on Anders, pupils dilated. The black nearly swallowed the brownish green of Mitchell’s iris.

“There is an easy solution to this situation.” Anders pulled his hand out from under Mitchell’s slowly and brought it to his throat where he began to unbuttoned the black shirt. His movements were without haste, giving Mitchell time to understand.

“Put your shirt back on.” It sounded like a command but Mitchell’s body spoke a different language. His nails dug into the leather surface of the couch and his gaze was glued to Anders’ hands, following their way down the broad chest.

“Why?” Anders undid the last button and pushed the shirt off his shoulders in deliberately slow moves. Mitchell’s starved looks tingled on his bare skin. He leaned closer to Mitchell, bracing himself next to his legs.

The Irishman didn’t move back but his posture became more rigid. “Anders, I can’t drink from you again.”

“Of course you can,” Anders purred. He placed his hands on Mitchell’s thighs and looked right at him. “

I see it in your eyes. You’re hungry.”

Mitchell swallowed heavily, his Adam’s apple jumping up and down nervously in his throat.

“Yes, I am,” his voice had become strained, “which is why I’m going hunting.”

 _Oh no, you’re going to drink from me, handsome_. Anders crawled closer and let one hand slide up Mitchell’s thigh while the other snuck under his grey long sleeve.

“Human blood is not what you need, Mitchell. We both know that. It’s… ordinary. Hell, it’s even revolting. Like drinking bad Scotch. It’s got the right ingredients but you know it could taste so much better if you only got the right brand and age…”

“Anders, I… I don’t want to hurt you.”

Mitchell’s lips were slightly parted. Anders could make out his tongue testing the spot that hid his fangs.

“You won’t. I offer it to you, Mitchell.”

He dropped his seduction act far enough to make Mitchell realise his sincerity but not enough to let him off the hook.

“You’re not doing anything that hurts me or that I don’t want.”

Anders caught Mitchell’s lips lightly. A gentle grazing at most, a soft touch that lingered and bloomed through his absence, designed to give Mitchell an incentive to act on. “Quite the opposite.”

A shiver ran through Mitchell and his words got stuck in his throat. “But I…”

By now, his eyes flicked to black with every other blink which made Anders anticipate Mitchell’s fangs on his skin and his greedy feeding in all its arousing intensity.

“Think about it,” Anders whispered and his right hand rubbed over the swell of Mitchell’s cock, drawing a stifled breath from his lips, “You don’t have to go out. You can stay here with me and there is no body to take care of afterwards. You drink the blood you actually crave… and it’s freely given.”

Anders slowly pushed up Mitchell’s long sleeve to reveal his slim torso. The contradicting emotions that fought inside Mitchell were plainly visible on his face but he didn’t fight Anders’ advances. Without resistance, the brunet took the shirt off and let himself be pushed back against the armrest of the sofa. Still the last residue of hesitation sat in his eyes when Anders leaned over him, his hands on Mitchell’s sides.

“Trust me, it’s fine. I want you to be strong again,” Anders murmured and kissed the base of Mitchell’s throat.

“Anders, stop…” Mitchell said coarsely but his hands were already running over the god’s broad shoulders and down his back.

“You don’t want me to stop though, do you?” Anders nipped at Mitchell’s collarbone, “I know that _I_ want you to go on. I want you, Mitchell… and I want you to drink from me.”

Anders didn’t have time to realise the change in Mitchell when he suddenly moved under him. His hand had Anders’ hair in a tight grip and pulled him in without hesitation. Cool lips met his in a bruising kiss and then a hot tongue was pushing into his mouth, raw and demanding. A deep growl grew in Mitchell’s throat that made the smaller man’s breath hitch as he kissed him with equal need. The brunet ran his hands over Anders’ torso and undid the trousers’ buttons in a hurry. He hooked his fingers under the waistband of both jeans and boxer briefs, yanking them down and undressing him completely, his mouth still kissing Anders’ lips with force. The blond only managed to undo the belt and get rid of Mitchell’s jeans but not his underwear before the vampire pulled him close again roughly and didn’t allow for any space to exist between them.

Anders felt hunger in every move: the greedy force of the kiss and the frantic way the Irishman grabbed him and ran his blunt nails over his bare back were pure need. His hand on Anders’ arse a firm grip and his hips pushing up, all power and desire. Guttural sounds made their way out of Mitchell’s throat as he was pressing the blond closer and trapped him with his long legs.

Anders grabbed what he could of the dark hair and muscular shoulders with his body effectively taken over by the brunet. He rubbed himself against Mitchell’s clothed erection with a low moan – the feeling of fabric instead of skin made him frustrated and horny but the vampire had taken to kissing his neck, his eyes perpetually black now. Anders’ breath came ragged as he dug his nails in Mitchell’s shoulder blade. He threw back his head and exposed his throat while every fibre of his body craved the sharp bite that would break his skin.

Mitchell licked, sucked and kissed the sensitive skin on the blond’s throat, drawing sounds from him Anders didn’t know he could make. With shaking hands the Irishman tore down his own black boxer briefs far enough to free his cock and Anders felt a strong arm around his waist as he was pulled up in a swift motion, now straddling Mitchell.

“Oh, fuck,” Anders panted at his new position, their arousals finally meeting without interfering material. He wrapped his hand around both their cocks and rocked his hips in a messy rhythm, moaning as their erections slid against each other. Mitchell growled at the contact and pressed his lips on Anders’ mouth again, groaning into it when the blond rubbed his tongue over the tips of his protruding fangs. The sharp edges nipped at his tongue and he bucked hard into Mitchell.

“Do it, babe,” Anders demanded coarsely and flicked his finger over the tip of Mitchell’s cock before setting a faster pace. The brunet was pushing frantically into Anders’ tight grip now, his mouth sucking at the god’s nipple.

“Bite me, Mitch-”

Mitchell growled another time and before Anders could finish his sentence, the vampire dug his fangs into his side.

Anders gasped at the sharp pain that vibrated through his body but blended in so perfectly with his arousal. He felt a hand in his back that steadied him as he was leaning back, offering up his body without restraint. The greedy mouth on his side, sucking and lapping up the blood that ran from the wound, made Anders grind his hips harder into Mitchell’s lap and against the brunet’s erection. Mitchell’s golden pupils on the black irises were piercing Anders’ eyes, watching him fall apart. With a deep growl, almost undistinguishable from the vampire’s, Anders came over his hand and their stomachs.

Riding out the waves of his orgasm Anders felt the supporting hand disappear from his back. He fell, his back hit the couch’s seat and suddenly there was no contact on him left. Mitchell’s mouth wasn’t on the wound anymore, no more suction on his skin. Gasping in surprise, Anders looked up at a shivering Mitchell who had withdrawn to the other end of the couch, steading himself against the armrest.

“No, no… I didn’t… I…,” the words he uttered were incoherent but human. Yet Mitchell’s fangs were still clearly visible, coated in Anders’ blood and shining between his equally red lips. A few drops had smeared on his cheek and chin, little trails of blood.

 

 

Anders’ body was coming down from the orgasm and he struggled into a sitting position. Mitchell’s chest was heaving in heavy breaths, his curls stuck to his sweaty skin. The muscles in his arms looked tense and contracted unintentionally as he stared at Anders. It took him a moment to decode the feeling visible on Mitchell’s face: panic.

“I’m… no… Anders… I…” Word fragments continued to spill out of Mitchell’s mouth as he scrambled to his feet, eyes wide open.

“Mitchell, what’s wrong?” Anders managed to ask through his hazy state but by this time, Mitchell had already stumbled through the room and closed the bathroom door behind him with a final thud.

 

 

*****

 

Mitchell leaned against the bathroom door, panting heavily. Shivers he couldn’t control ran through his body and he clawed at the wall for support.

_I bit him. I drank his blood, I saw my reflection and I hurt him but I didn’t want to – why didn’t I just back off? He seduced me, it’s not my fault but yes it is I wanted to keep him safe and all I do is make things worse. He wanted me to bite him, I need the blood and he needs the bite, it’s fine, but it’s not, is it, it’s sick and twisted and I’m the monster who cannot control himself around the people he loves and I fuck everything up._

He ran a hand over his lips; it came back bloody. With eyes wide open Mitchell dashed to the sink and turned on the water, leaving a bloody trail on the handle. He tore off his gloves and started to scrub frantically at his exposed skin, the blood turning the water reddish. He splashed water into his face and rinsed his mouth but the taste of blood – of Anders’ blood – still lingered on his tongue. Trembling fingers rushed through the cabinet and finally found the mouthwash. Mitchell gargled the better part of it, spit it out and leaned on the sink, staring into the mirror that wouldn’t show his image.

 _I don’t need his blood to survive I’m just a fucking addict who can’t control his urges and continues to fail. All my vows mean fuck all when I can’t keep from drinking. It won’t happen again, it can’t. I won’t give in. Neither to myself nor to him. I’ll tell him, I’ll tell him I don’t want his blood, I’ll go cold turkey and start again. This was the last hit. This time I won’t break my promise, next time I won’t drink from him. I keep myself well-fed. Why would he tempt me like that? He knows I can’t say no. why does he want me to bite him? This isn’t good. He shouldn’t offer himself up for me, much less enjoy it. But if we both need it? Why shouldn’t we go on like that? He gets off when I bite him and I get my fix…. No, it’s wrong_.

In frustration, Mitchell kicked the cleaning bucket under the sink; it darted through the room with a clattering sound.

_Morals, Mitchell, really? Isn’t it a little late for that? Fuck’s sake… But he’s so much more than my blood bank. How could I bite him in the first place? It’s my fault he enjoys it. He was broken by his family but I was the one to swoop in and make him dependent on me. I made him want to be bitten by me. It’s my fault. I broke him, too, and I keep using him when all I want is for him to grow strong. I am the enabler to his addiction, I’m in the way. I see myself in his eyes and it’s fucking scary. I’m not supposed to see myself. I’m a monster. Fuck, I don’t want to see it, I know it already. It’s not really myself… John… a ghost. “You failed me. You hurt him. He’s the one to save you and you fucked it up”._

Mitchell sat down on the toilet lid, taking a few deep breaths. His fists loosened up and the shivers stopped but the tremble in his hand remained.

_I need to tell him. He can’t seduce me again, he shouldn’t try. I’m doing it for him. I need to do it for him. I can’t keep hurting him whether he wants it or not._

Leaning on his knees his body tension all but disappeared. He buried his head in his hands and dry sobs came out of his throat or was it retching? Mitchell didn’t know anymore.

_Why does he want it? It’s messy and painful and he begs for it… maybe it’s not about him, maybe it’s about me. Does he enjoy breaking me? Maybe he gets off on making me bite him. Power, control, and the wounds are only signs for his victory. Does that make sense? But he gives himself up… if it was only power he could easily drive the point home and make me suffer, refuse me. But he doesn’t. No, he offers and goes through with it and not even in defiance. He enjoys it, my fangs on his skin… He said he needs me to bite him. He wants me to be addicted…. But not to break me. Fuck. He thinks he has to offer something. He wants to be of use to me. Again._

Mitchell drummed his hands on his thighs and shook his head slightly as he was wrapping his head around his thoughts.

_We both need to get off this addiction before something happens. Before I drink him dry. Before we become slaves to our cravings and Ivan won’t even have to make an effort to kill us. We need to let it go. Starting right now. I go back to human blood and keep myself fed, saving up, getting rid of the craving, cutting down our misery. And for him… well, power and a feeling of being needed can surely be achieved differently…_

 

*****

 

The bathroom door creaked and Anders looked up. He was sitting on the floor, his back resting against the couch, his feet propped up. He was dressed again and had taken care of the wound while Mitchell had locked himself up in the bathroom – and trashed something, judging by the sounds. The Mitchell that stood in the doorframe now, however, didn’t seem aggressive Anders noted with relief. He looked shaken, yes, but calm.

Mitchell took a few hesitant steps towards Anders as if to assess how close he was allowed to come. He was wearing only a pair of boxer briefs and stepped next to the couch, grabbing his grey long sleeve and putting it on, doing the same with his jeans. Then, he let himself fall down on the floor next to Anders, staring ahead, his eyes focussing on the little statues of Laurel and Hardy that were sitting next to the TV.

“Anders,” he said in a quiet voice.

“Hm?” Anders waited. What was he supposed to say? He still had no idea what had made Mitchell run from a situation the second time today but he sure hoped that nothing had been wrong with his blood.

“Anders,” Mitchell said again and looked down, “I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” Anders asked surprised – he hadn’t thought that Mitchell would start with an apology. “For biting you.”

“Mitchell, you don’t have to apologise,” Anders said slowly, not entirely sure where this conversation was headed, “I offered and you agreed. It was consensual.”

“It was wrong.”

“Wrong?” Anders couldn’t stop his voice from sounding incredulous. “It was perfect until you freaked out.”

“It wasn’t,” Mitchell shook his head with such insistence that his curls bounced, “You don’t believe that.”

“Yes, I do,” he said in defiance. Mitchell had gotten his fix, Anders as well and they both got off. In Anders’ book that was quite the win-win situation – which made Mitchell’s insistence all the weirder.

Anders sighed and turned to the Irishman, sick of their anonymous staring. “What happened, Mitchell, why did you hide?”

“I’m… ashamed. And freaked out.” His gaze was still fixed on the floor between his stretched-out legs.

“Why?”

“Because I vowed not to bite you and yet I did.” Mitchell picked at his fingers, no doubt missing his gloves.

“When did you vow that?” Anders deliberately didn’t react to the guilt that laced Mitchell’s words. There was no reason for him to feel that way – Anders surely wouldn’t let Mitchell go down that road. To hell with this ominous “vow” that Anders knew nothing of.

Mitchell’s voice quivered slightly as he said with a bitter huff, “After the last time I bit you.”

“Mitchell, it’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Anders turned fully to Mitchell and laid a hand on his shoulder, making him look into his eyes. “You follow your nature, as simple as that. And I get a kick out of it.”

“Do you really?” Anders thought he saw a glimpse of hope in Mitchell’s eyes, despite the doubtful tone.

“Yeah. It’s… I don’t know, it’s hot.” _To say the least_ , Anders added in his mind.

“I _hurt_ you, Anders. I drink your blood.”

“Don’t you understand? I want you to,” Anders said and squeezed Mitchell’s upper arm for insistence.

The vampire started to frustrate him – he could only tell him ‘it’s okay’ in so many words. Besides, the feeding hadn’t been a problem before. Anders didn’t know where Mitchell’s sudden rejection came from but it made him uneasy. Something must have changed, something he evidently didn’t notice.

“So why go and hide?” Anders asked, trying to get to the core of their problem.

Mitchell stopped fidgeting with his fingers and looked at Anders with thin lips. His tongue wetted his lips before he calmly said, “I see myself in your eyes.”

“You what?” That wasn’t possible. _Vampires don’t have reflections, every child knows that._

“Your eyes, Anders,” Mitchell went on in a measured way, “When I drink your blood, they are glazed over with this… golden veil. And it reflects me.”

“You’re saying that…” Anders tilted his head and tried to make sense of Mitchell’s words. A golden veil… that could only mean some sort of Bragi-godstuff magic. If the golden specks he regularly saw on Mitchell’s irises were anything to go by.

“That’s why you wanted me to keep my eyes open?” Suddenly, all the times Mitchell had stared strangely into his eyes after a feeding made sense. So not only Mitchell’s eyes changed when he fed – Anders own did, too. At least to the vampire. Anders felt excitement rise in his stomach.

“But that’s… that’s great! Isn’t it?” Anders grabbed Mitchell’s arm with both hands. “I thought you couldn’t be reflected!”

“I can’t, that’s the point.” Mitchell didn’t join in with Anders’ enthusiasm but the god barely noticed.

“Which makes it special. Mitchell, it’s perfect. It means something.”

Anders felt the Bragi-part of him stir as he thought about the symbolic meaning. It must be a sign for them to be… right for each other. They fit together and create more than only the sum of their parts. A warm feeling spread through Anders as he smiled at Mitchell. But the brunet remained serious, too serious for such good news. “It does. It means I should stop.”

“No, Mitchell…” Anders said, confused. Could Mitchell not see the significance of it? _Or maybe he doesn’t want to_ , a mean little voice in the back of his mind offered.

Mitchell clenched his jaw and looked at Anders with sad eyes. He laid his right over Anders’ hand grabbing his arm.

“It’s not right. I’m a monster, Anders. I’m not supposed to see myself. That’s the whole idea. Legend has it that the devil took our reflection to remind us that we sold our soul…”

“The devil? Mitchell, don’t get all weirdly religious on me,” Anders said half-annoyed, half-jokingly.

“Point being, it’s wrong,” Mitchell insisted without easing up on his earnest expression.

_He won’t let it go._

“Aren’t you happy to see yourself? It might mean that we are meant to be together, that you should drink from me. My blood gives you a glimpse of yourself.”

“Except I don’t like that glimpse.” Mitchell bit his lower lip, throwing Anders a pleading look. “Anders, please… I can’t drink from you again.”

 _Can’t or won’t_? Anders wanted to ask when Mitchell sighed and ran his right through his curls.

“I’m an addict. I crave your blood and I hurt you to access it. I bite you, for fuck’s sake… It’s not something you do to people you… like. Don’t tell me it’s not painful, I know what it feels like to be fed from. I want to protect you, Anders, but I can’t if I keep mistreating you like that.”

He made it sound like rape, Anders thought. “You’re not mistreating me, Mitchell, I want it.”

Hell, it wasn’t only erotic but for once in his life, Anders felt that he was worth something. He wasn’t a nuisance to Mitchell, no annoying liability or arrogant prick. He meant something to Mitchell, he was needed.

“That doesn’t make it right. It’s a sick habit for both of us and we need to stop. I don’t want to drink from you anymore.”

There it was. He didn’t _want_ to. Anders narrowed his eyes and let go of Mitchell’s arm.

“Is my blood not good enough for you?” he asked, his voice cold.

“What?”

“You say this is to keep me safe. But it’s not. It’s about the blood, isn’t it? Tell me, Mitchell, would you rather suck on the throat of a normal human?”

Without realising, Anders had become louder. All his fear of worthlessness making his voice raspy and nasty, even in his own ears.

“Uh, I mean, I…” Mitchell stuttered, taken by surprise and sat up straighter against the sofa.

“I thought you needed my blood and now you tell me you settle for less?”

“Anders, I don’t...”

“You reject me. You, of all people.” Anders laughed, a short and bitter sound. “That’s fucking rich.”

“What are you talking about? I don’t reject you! I want to help you.” Mitchell reached out to touch Anders but when he saw his cold stare, he awkwardly let his arm drop.

“I don’t _need_ help. What I need is you to feed from me.”

“No, Anders. That’s not it.”

“You said it was sick. Siding with my family, huh? What am I to you then, just a toy? A guilty pleasure?” Anders spat the words out and with satisfaction he saw Mitchell’s face fall.

“Please calm down, Anders, you got it all wrong,” the brunet said in a helpless tone that only added to Anders’ anger.

“That’s what people have been saying. You’ve got it all wrong, Anders, it’s your fault Helen is dead. Anders, Gaia is off limits. Anders, Mitchell isn’t real. How much more of that bullshit do I have to take?”

Mitchell said nothing.

“I came here, broken, and you patched me up without question. You stopped me from doing something stupid and you didn’t ask for anything in return. I felt safe for the first time in fucking ages. I thought you’re someone who understands, who gets it.” Anders’ voice broke and he cleared his throat before snarling, “And now you tell me I’m a sick mistake?”

“Anders… that’s not what I said. Don’t twist my words.” Mitchell obviously made an effort to keep calm.

“God of poetry, at your fucking service.”

“Let me explain.”

“Go right ahead.”

“I don’t see _myself_ in your eyes. I see what I once was. I see John, the Irish lad, out and about. I can’t stand it. It’s all so fucked up and I remember what I once believed in. Love, hope, security… all human values. I see a disappointed lad who blames me for harming the one person who is important to me.”

The sincerity in Mitchell’s voice startled Anders and he remembered the way the Irishman had talked about his human past. Just before Anders had kissed him properly for the first time.

“I understand that you want to see it as a sign that we should carry on like that,” Mitchell went on, “but it’s not. It’s a clear sign for us to stop. Anders, I haven’t seen my face in over 80 years. I haven’t thought of the boy I was for a long time until I met you. The memory returned only when you came here to propose the deal, when I hadn’t understood what happened with your eyes yet. Your courage and bravery somehow brought it all back… and the reflection of me – of my human self – in your eyes when I hurt you is not there to encourage me.”

Anders shifted slightly. “But… I thought it meant something good. Some sort of bond between us. A connection.”

As he said it Anders realised with the force of a fist to the stomach how starved he was for it. For being important to Mitchell, for being more than just blood and Bragi.

“It does.” Mitchell looked at him, honest and solemn. He carefully reached for Anders once more and this time Anders let him. The hand on his shoulder felt reassuring and strong.

“It’s there to tell me to take care of you. It tells me to stop being so blind and that there is a line I shouldn’t cross.”

Mitchell paused and ran his hand along Anders’ arm.

“I can’t bear the thought of being someone who hurts you. No matter your take on the situation. Every wound I inflict on you is one too much. We might get off on it now but it will destroy us in the long run. We’ll get lost in our cravings and I can’t let that happen.”

Carefully, Mitchell came closer to Anders and pulled him into a light embrace.

“… and what else would I have to offer?” Anders said quietly, leaning into Mitchell’s large frame.

Their whole relationship was built on blood, Anders thought. They had come a long way, sure, but the one constant had always been blood. Why would Mitchell stay if they took it away? Anders desperately wanted the Irishman’s words to be true but the nagging voice in the back of his mind made him cautious.

Mitchell gently pressed a kiss on Anders’ temple.

“You don’t need to offer anything, Anders. Just the way you are is more than enough. It comes naturally. You see, none of this means that I don’t value you. It’s the direct opposite. I value you too much to treat you like a blood bank. We are one, Anders Johnson.”

In his mind, Bragi hummed in appreciation of Mitchell’s words. Before Anders could say anything Mitchell’s lips were on his, softly kissing him while one hand stroked through his hair. Anders sighed into the kiss. Mitchell’s earthy scent and the tender touch brought back pleasant memories and maybe, just maybe, Anders was really more to him than just blood.

Mitchell rested his forehead against Anders’.

“And this is why I don’t want to drink from you anymore. Can you accept that?”

Anders nodded lightly. “I guess…”

The bite was in itself a kink for him which could surely be substituted one way or another. But what about Mitchell’s craving? Faintly embarrassed Anders realized that he hadn’t taken Mitchell’s side into consideration throughout their discussion. He had sounded so convinced that, somehow, the god had assumed Mitchell had a back-up plan. To escape the magnitude of his selfishness Anders kissed him, as if to apologise.

“But what are you going to do? You can’t go cold turkey.”

“Hunt.” Mitchell ran his finger along Anders’ jaw. “Tonight.”

“Tonight? Didn’t you…”

“It wasn’t enough. It stopped the worst symptoms but I need to feed.”

Anders nodded, swallowing down the offer that already lay on his tongue. _Old habits die hard._

“Would you come with me?” Mitchell asked softly, cupping Anders’ cheek.

“Hunting?” Anders’ eyes grew big at the suggestion. He didn’t know the first thing about how vampires hunted but the point was that Mitchell wanted him there – just like he had said when he had talked about their powers.

“Yes… we could work together.”

“I talk and you fight?” Anders asked, remembering the sweet vision of freedom he carried around since Mitchell had painted that picture for him.

“Your voice and my fangs,” the brunet smiled.

“Of course I’ll come with you,” Anders snuggled into Mitchell’s embrace, “we’ll get you back on track. And then, we’ll deal with Ivan.”

Mitchell hummed in affirmation.

Looking up to the brunet, Anders said, “You need to tell me what I should do when we’re hunting.”

“We’ll go to a bar,” Mitchell said and wrapped his arms closer around Anders, “we’ll have a drink, take a look around. You take your pick and we lure that one outside.”

“Mitchell… I’ll help you but I’m not letting you kill anyone.” For a second, Helen’s face flickered in Anders’ mind’s eye.

“This is why you should come, to stop me in time. And you can make my… the one I bite forget. Please join me. I need you there.”

Anders warmed himself on those words. He let a few of the dark curls slide through his fingers and whispered against Mitchell’s lips, “We’ll go tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I introduced the Ivan/Mitchell past I didn't know how much I actually want to read about it. That came out of nowhere... anyway, I have found zero fics on that pairing so if anyone feels like writing something or knows of a story, please send it my way :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff and hunting :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a fair warning beforehand: I split the hunting scene in two parts and this one doesn't really have that much action in it... emotions and stuff sneaked in. Again.

“That’s that settled,” Anders said as he strode back into the room and threw the phone on the mattress next to Mitchell. The display shone brightly in the otherwise dark bedroom – Mitchell had drawn the blinds when it had proved to be a sunny day and the light stung uncomfortably in his eyes. Now, he was sitting cross-legged on the bed and looked expectantly at Anders.

“What did Colin say?”

“I’ll cut out the snarky remarks and arrogant comments for convenience. What remains is that he agreed to a meeting tomorrow. He’ll text me the details.”

“Doesn’t he have an office?” Mitchell asked and raised one eyebrow.

“Sure, but god stuff usually takes place in some sort of forest…” Anders fended off further questions with a wave of his hand, “don’t ask.”

“Okay…” Mitchell looked mildly confused, “How much did you tell him?”

“Just that I have an interesting offer for him to get back at Stevenson”

“How do you know which one he has a quarrel with?”

“I know people and keep an eye on them. Like Colin surely does as well. I work in PR, remember? When it comes to the important ones in this city it’s my business to know what other people don’t know,” Anders said with a smug little grin.

Mitchell stared at him, mouth slightly agape. “...Did you just paraphrase Sherlock Holmes?”

“Why yes, I did. There’s more to me than just this pretty face,” he winked at the Irishman.

“I know,” Mitchell said with a soft smile, “Come here.”

Anders took Mitchell’s extended hand and let himself be pulled on the bed, opening his arms for the vampire as he settled in on the back of the mattress. Mitchell leaned into him, resting his head on his chest with a sleepy sigh. How naturally it came by now, Anders thought as he kissed Mitchell gently on the lips, and how nice it felt.

“Are you okay?” Anders asked when a short but strong shiver ran through Mitchell. He placed his hand on the brunet’s neck and stroked soothingly.

“Yeah… now I am,” Mitchell said as he leaned into the touch and pressed a kiss on Anders’ chest.

The blond chuckled. “You’re such a sap.”

“Don’t let anyone know,” came the mumbled answer.

Anders smiled and relaxed with every deep breath Mitchell took. It was strange to him how easily they had taken care of the earlier situation – strange in the sense that no grudges were held on either side despite the rough subject matter. They had talked about it and now Mitchell was pressed into his body with just as much trust as before; maybe even more.

This was new, Anders thought. Is that how normal people dealt with arguments? “Normal” was probably the wrong word but it amazed him that he didn’t feel the slightest need to hold on to any quotes in case he needed to throw them back at Mitchell later on. No, it was discussed and checked off and wouldn’t stay a festering wound like the arguments Anders was so used to.

“Tell me more.” Mitchell whispered request interrupted Anders’ musings. He focussed his attention to the dozing vampire lying on his chest, still caressing his neck.

“About what?”

“Reading… books… you and Sherlock Holmes.” Mitchell wound his arm a little tighter around Anders’ waist.

“You want to know about my reading habits?”

“Mhm. Please.”

“Well… as you may have gathered my family is a bit on the broken side. It wasn’t always as bad as it is now,” Anders made a little pause when he remembered their last meeting at the pub, carding his hand through the hair of the very real Mitchell, “but there were problems. Father gone, mother as well and only the big brother to raise three boys who would turn out to be vessels of Norse gods. Quite a bit of responsibility.”

Anders fell silent for a moment.

“Of course we didn’t see it at the time. There was always shouting and shoving around in our household. So as a child I tried to stay out of their arguments as well as possible. I spent a lot of time in my room, reading.”

“Sherlock Holmes?”

“Anything really. I always liked Holmes. He’s this weird guy without any social skills but he has a gift. He makes good use of it and is respected despite his odd behaviour. I don’t know, it spoke to me. Even in high school I was a bookish kid. Don’t get me wrong, I was outgoing and social but I stuck to reading. I learned a lot from books, got lost in the language somehow.”

Even though he couldn’t see Mitchell’s face under the mop of unruly hair he could tell he was listening attentively. Mitchell’s hand brushed against Anders’ and with a natural move he interlaced their fingers.

“You know how some people see a whole universe when they look at molecules and stuff?” Anders went on, “I’m like that with words. There’s beauty in language and even if you analyse it all according to grammar and rules it doesn’t lose its magic. That’s the kind of thing that fascinates me. Doesn’t really come as a surprise now that I became Bragi, does it?” he ended jokingly.

Mitchell didn’t laugh but pulled their joined fingers closer and pressed a kiss on the back of Anders’ hand. “When did that happen?”

“On my 21st. It’s kind of a birthday present.” Anders’ voice didn’t sound bitter despite the comment. He had given up on wrestling with his fate long ago.

“Have you ever written yourself?” Mitchell asked in a sleepy voice.

“I tried a few times but it turned out that I’m much better at the spoken word than the written.”

“Because of Bragi.”

“Even before. Anything from storytelling to excuses to arguments. These days I make up a lot more stories than I read but there’s always a few new novels on my to-read list and I won’t let go of old favourites.”

Just when Anders thought Mitchell had fully fallen asleep, the Irishman turned his head to look up at him.

“… Do you have reading glasses?” A small smile danced around his full lips.

“Mitchell, I don’t need glasses to read your dirty thoughts from here.”

 

* * * * * *

 

They spent the afternoon in bed, dozing, safely wrapped in the comfort of each other’s arms, exchanging slow kisses. Anders was relieved that Mitchell’s condition was improving the further the sun went down: despite the drawn blinds the light had still crept in at some angles. Whenever a ray of light hit him Mitchell would wince quietly, a sound that hurt something deep inside Anders’ heart. But the shivers eased up, nowhere as strong or violent as before the feeding and by the time the October sun had set Mitchell was fully relaxed.

“Mitchell?” Anders asked, moving so that their legs were entangled and his head rested in the crook of Mitchell’s neck.

“Yes, my love?” He wrapped his arms around Anders and pressed a kiss on the blond locks.

“I’ve got no idea how you hunt.”

“Well… there are a few versions, depending on the surroundings and whether I’m alone or not. Tonight it’s not going to be the chasing kind of hunt. We keep a low profile. Think of it as picking someone up at a pub.”

Anders nodded and his voice resonated with a grin. “Not so different from my kind of hunting, then.”

The prospect of leaving the little flat had lost its scariness and was replaced with curiosity on Anders’ part. They had stayed indoors long enough, stayed inactive long enough. As much as Anders loved lying here with Mitchell he was excited for the night ahead. It was about time _they_ were the ones who acted and took control of their situation. Of course this wouldn’t solve the problem with Ivan but that was their concern for tomorrow. Tonight, they’d take care of the most pressing problem and move on from there.

Anders kissed the base of Mitchell’s throat and whispered against his skin, “That’ll be interesting…”

“I can’t wait to see you out there,” Mitchell murmured with a deep voice that tingled pleasantly in Anders’ ear and against his lips, “powerful… golden… and all vocal…”

Mitchell lightly tugged at Anders’ hair and caught his lips in a lingering kiss. Anders opened his mouth, teasingly sucking the Irishman’s lower lip.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? A perfect match to the dark mysterious vampire.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Mitchell cupped Anders’ cheek, looking deep into his eyes. The dark green sparkled in anticipation and a cheeky grin played about his lips.

“But in answer to your question: We’ll go the King’s Arms and settle in for a while. Have a drink, check out the clientele, look normal. Like we just enjoy a beer after work. Then we pick someone. Ideally moderately young, either someone who is alone or part of a bigger group. That way, no one will notice if he’s gone for a while.”

“You want a guy?” Anders asked, playing with the buttons on Mitchell’s shirt.

“I’m not picky but it makes luring him outside easier. From my experience groups of women keep a close eye on each other and finding a woman by herself in a pub on a Wednesday night is unlikely.”

“Right. What happens next?” Anders asked, eager to keep Mitchell talking him through the plan in his rumbling accent.

“I’ll go over and talk to him for a while, make him come outside with me. There are enough dark corners around the King’s Arms, so once we’re out of earshot and hidden from sight I bite him. You follow us and stop me in case I won’t let go.” Mitchell hesitated, “Use Bragi if you must.”

The very idea burned hot in Anders’ stomach and he frowned. “I don’t use Bragi on you, Mitchell. You’re not my enemy. We should work together, not against each other.”

“I hope it won’t come to this.” Mitchell’s hand gently stoked through Anders’ hair and slid to his neck, making Anders shiver in delight.

“But you wouldn’t be working against me. Quite the opposite, actually. I need you to stop me because we can’t leave a body behind, not with Ivan and Daisy roaming the city. Also, if they don’t find bodies of mine they’ll assume I’m not feeding and growing weak – which might be just the advantage we need.”

Anders considered Mitchell’s arguments for a moment and had to admit that he was right. It came down to strategy. Besides, he stood by what he had said earlier: Anders would not let Mitchell kill an innocent man on his watch. If he had to use Bragi on him, then so be it. Who knew, maybe it all worked out and Mitchell could control himself enough to stop in time. _He can with me_.

“I see,” Anders nodded, “so what then?”

He rolled himself further onto Mitchell and slid his hand under his shirt, tracing his waist and softly playing with his chest hair. The brunet shifted his hips slightly and ran one hand down Anders’ back while the other one traced his jawline.

“When I’m done you step in and work your magic.” His voice had that low growl in the undertones again, tempting Anders to kiss his throat while he went on talking.

“Make him believe that he came out here because he was feeling a little dizzy from the alcohol and needed fresh air. Tell him to cover up the marks with his jacket or something. Then, send him back inside the pub and we’re on our… – oh… uh, on our way.” The last word stumbled a little stifled from Mitchell’s lips when Anders scraped his teeth lightly over his throat.

“Seems like an easy plan to follow,” Anders said, grinning smugly at the feeling of Mitchell’s beginning erection against his leg.

“It is. Those are the best.” Mitchell’s lips felt hot on Anders’, all earlier lingering tension forgotten. This kiss was more forceful but without crossing over into being demanding. Their tongues were touching playfully and Mitchell slid up Anders’ shirt enough to make his hand meet exposed skin.

Anders broke the kiss, noticing with delight that Mitchell’s mouth followed him greedily.

“Should I talk the guy into coming outside with you?”

Mitchell shook his head while continuing to brush his fingers against Anders’ spine.

“I don’t think so. He needs to be alert. I… I need him to struggle.”

A darker expression crawled into Mitchell’s eyes. “And… It makes it easier for me to stop than when I’m feeding on a complacent zombie.”

Anders felt a tingle in his stomach, not quite able to place Mitchell’s words but sure about one thing.

“I can make him struggle for you,” he murmured, tracing Mitchell’s stubble and lips with soft fingers.

Mitchell nipped at Anders’ fingers lightly.

“It needs to be genuine. And we draw less attention to ourselves if it’s only one of us who talks to him. It’s probably not that busy tonight so we should attract as few glances as possible.”

Anders frowned. “But my job is the talking.”

_Talking is all I have._

“And you do talk. It’s not the picking up that’s the challenge, it’s the aftermath. Are you okay with that?” Mitchell looked worried and focussed Anders in a serious gaze.

“I’m not trying to take anything away from you, Anders. We haven’t hunted together before so I figured we go for the safest option for now.”

This wasn’t some scheme to throw him a bone and keep him occupied, Anders thought, Mitchell meant it.

“Fair point,” Anders nodded. “You do your thing and I’ll do mine for now and we’ll figure out the best way to work as a team along the way.”

“Yeah,” the Irishman said with a smile that didn’t convince Anders. Something else was bothering him, evidently, and Anders waited patiently until he spoke up.

“There’s one thing though. You’re not going to like it.”

“And what’s that?” Anders asked while running his hand over Mitchell’s chest and lightly brushing his nipple under the fabric.

“He… well, the way it usually works is I flirt. Openly. And a lot. So when he comes outside with me he’s gonna have… certain expectations.”

Mitchell shifted a bit under Anders’ hands, as if he wanted to wind his way out of this conversation. Anders tilted his head and opened his mouth to say something when Mitchell grabbed his shoulders and looked at him in earnest.

“But what you must understand: it’s all pretence.”

Anders propped himself up on his forearms. _Expectations_? The blond felt a gush of sudden jealousy spread through him.

“Let me translate that…” he said in a doubtful tone but taking care to not sound too incredulous, “Are you saying you’re gonna fuck him while I watch?”

Mitchell’s eyes widened. “What? No. Of course not. I’m saying that he might be a bit… handsy.”

He hesitated and carefully ran his hands through Anders’ hair. “And to some extend I have to go along with it until I get the chance to attack.”

Anders clenched his jaw. That was definitely not part of what he had imagined their plan to be.

“What, you have me watch some guy grind against you in a dark alley?”

“None of this is genuine, Anders,” Mitchell said quietly, “I go through the motions. I don’t get a kick out of it. It doesn’t get me off. I do it purely to feed, no matter how it looks to you. And I need you to remember that, even if you forget everything else. It’s all make-believe.”

Anders huffed and took a deep breath, avoiding Mitchell’s pleading eyes. On impulse he would use Bragi on every little bastard that so much as cast a wrong look at the vampire.

But this was all in his own head, really. Mitchell had to feed. He needed the third party in order to keep the two of them strong – and Anders didn’t doubt for a moment that Mitchell was honest with him.

“Does it bother you?” Anders asked and leaned closer again, “That kind of intimacy?”

Mitchell’s mouth went rigid but he tried to soften it with a non-committal shrug of his shoulders.

“It’s the quickest way and the most inconspicuous. No one takes a second look at a couple in a back alley in tight embrace. If anything it makes people walk faster. Does it bother you?”

“…Maybe.” Anders lay back on Mitchell’s chest, pressing a soft kiss on the nape of his neck.

“It really is only about the feeding and nothing else, I promise. If you want you choose someone. I’ll go along with it, no questions asked. I want to make this hunt as pleasant as possible for you.”

“It sounds exciting. Except for that part.” Anders was trying to wrap his head around the scene that would sure be played out in front of him soon.

“Please don’t freak. It’s made up and fake. It’s not like what we have.” Mitchell pressed a kiss on Anders’ temple and gently caressed his neck.

The blond sighed, relaxing in Mitchell’s arms and listening to his words. They had something, right? Something real. Something that went beyond the blood.

Yet Anders had to ask that one question to silence the voice in the back of his mind.

“Did you ever… I mean, back when we…”

“No. Never.” Mitchell’s answer came strong and determined. “We are entirely different. When we agreed on the deal I could’ve easily just taken your blood. But I wanted you. All real.”

Anders nodded, allowing himself a relieved smile before Mitchell pulled him into a sweet kiss.

“Do you feel up for that?” the brunet asked.

“Yes. I’ll just think of all the things I’ll do to you later.”

“Mhm, intriguing.”

 

* * * * * *

 

The King’s Arms was located on one of the smaller streets of Bristol, the old façade resting snugly between equally old houses that were placed in a small maze of alleys. With a careful last look down the empty street Mitchell stepped through the door, closely following Anders. The pub was busy without being overcrowded and on first glance it seemed to be the usual after-work clientele. The atmosphere was relaxed, old rock songs were playing over the stereo and in the back a few people were playing darts and pool billiard.

“I’ll get us something to drink. Why don’t you sit down over there?” Mitchell nodded to a darker corner of the pub, a cosy spot with upholstered benches.

“Sure,” Anders nodded and made himself comfortable. A moment later, Mitchell joined him with two pints of beer.

“There you go,” he set the glasses on the table and sat across from Anders, carelessly throwing his keys and wallet next to the pints.

“To a successful evening.”

“Cheers,” Anders smirked and clinked his glass against Mitchell’s.

The vampire leaned back in his seat, relishing the fact that he was outside the flat again. His hands were only shaking lightly and so far he felt comfortable _._ This was his hunting ground, after all – the dark, simple pubs of any city he happened to pass by. Even without the sharp pain of immediate blood lust he could smell every single person’s blood in this pub, including Anders’. But Mitchell knew to take his time. What he had consumed from Anders kept him calm and in control for now and by the end of the night he should be fully sated for at least another week. _Here’s to hoping I estimate properly this time._

He picked up his pint and studied Anders’ face.

“Are you alright?”

Anders looked tense, somehow, his features strained as he let his eyes roam over the people at the bar and the other tables.

“Hm? Yeah, all good,” he answered, adding a smile to his words that looked a little too zealous.

“What’s that you’re doing?” the Irishman asked casually.

“What do you think? Looking around, checking people out…” Anders said, throwing Mitchell a look as if he had forgotten why they were in this pub to begin with.

“No, you’re not,” Mitchell stated matter-of-factly, “You stare. It’s creepy.”

Anders snorted. “Says the vampire.”

“Well, I consider myself a bit of an expert on creeping so I should know,” Mitchell shot back and grinned broadly.

“For real, though, relax,” he added, “We just got here, it’s pretty early and there’s no use in choosing now. People come and go at this time.”

Anders sighed. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“Look, I know it’s your first time and…”

“Mitchell, cut it out,” Anders said, cocking an eyebrow at the brunet. “Don’t make me sound like a fucking virgin. I got it.”

Mitchell chuckled and took another mouthful from his pint. This was the Anders he loved most – snarky, quick with the line, and confident. _Good to see that’s back._

Anders threw himself back on the cushion, looking more relaxed now. “What do we do then? Tell more tales from the olden days?”

“If you want,” Mitchell nodded, curiosity growing.

When Anders had talked about reading earlier it had hit Mitchell that they didn’t really know each other. Of course they had seen each other in extreme situations – that’s what their bond was based on. But when it came to the little things they had a lot to catch up on. Not necessarily their pasts – Mitchell was sure that it was as difficult for Anders to talk about it as it was for him – but general things. Taste in books, music, films, art, food; favourite places in the city. Even stupid facts like allergies or pet peeves.

But only a dismissive huff came from Anders. “Nah, not in the mood.”

“That leaves playing pool.”

Anders stared at him as if he had lost his mind. “Pool?”

“If you’re in no mood to talk I’d rather we do something than sit here. Besides,” Mitchell twisted his lips into a wolfish grin, “who am I to miss a chance looking at your perky arse while you bend over a pool table.”

“Tss, perv…” Anders grinned right back and followed Mitchell to the back of the pub.

Even though Anders had stopped looking around for possible victims Mitchell felt that they weren’t alone in their conversation anymore. Somehow, the abstract concept of the guy he would feed on infiltrated their situation and while a healthy amount of cocky jokes kept them entertained, nothing could compensate it fully.

Still Mitchell was determined to help Anders relax as much as possible – which went better than expected. Their games were easy-going and fun, largely due to Anders’ insistence that Mitchell was cheating and would be fantastic at hustling pool if he ever needed a second career.

“Alright,” Mitchell said as they sat back down at their table, “the moment has come.”

“Which moment?”

“The moment for you to take your pick, Mr Johnson.” A deep glance and a cocksure grin was Mitchell’s way to carry over the relative ease of the game to the task at hand.

Mitchell was sure that Anders knew how fucked up this was: choosing his prey for him, the guy with whom he would “cheat” on the blond. But this was all he could do to make the inevitable as easy as possible for him.

With relief he noted that it worked on Anders: his blue eyes lit up in anticipation of the part which he could control.

“You really want me to choose?”

“Absolutely.” Mitchell nodded and added with a cheeky grin, “I heard your taste in men is impeccable.”

“Really? Well, let’s see…”

Anders leaned back in his seat and let his eyes wander around the room again. This time, however, Mitchell could tell something in Anders had snapped into hunting mode: his observation was subtle, a tentative scanning of possible victims without staring anyone down or drawing attention to him. Anders had been right: their kinds of hunting didn’t really differ all that much and Mitchell was captivated by the underlying stealth that was gracefully obscured by a slight curl of Anders’ lips.

“That one,” Anders nodded to Mitchell’s left side. A man in his mid-20s was sitting there alone, nursing his drink. On the table in front of him lay a folded out map on which he was drawing marks, ever so often consulting the book in his other hand.

“Why him?”

“Well, he’s young, alone, he doesn’t seem to be waiting for anyone and he’s not particularly noticeable. If the map is anything to go by he’s either new to the city, or, which is more likely given his clothes, a backpacker. That means that no one will notice for a while should he go missing. Also, backpackers are always eager to get to know people. Can easily be considered fair game.”

Mitchell took another look at their prey. Anders had chosen wisely – and luckily the guy wasn’t too bad to look at, either. That made the flirting part a lot easier. His hair was a dull blond and sat atop his head in a generic haircut but his face with full lips had an attractive twist. Nothing to stop you in your tracks but… interesting. The strong jawline was covered in a groomed three day’s stubble. He was dressed in jeans, a dark green t-shirt with a washed-out print of some sort over which he wore a hooded jacket.

“Good choice,” Mitchell nodded before his face lit up in a smile, “Your Sherlock Holmes past definitely pays off.”

“Right?” Anders threw him a mock-smug look. “My powers of deduction also tell me that you’ll show your gratitude for my consulting later on.”

“Is that right? Hmm…” Mitchell lowered his head and looked up at Anders with a coy grin on his lips, “I’d say that can be arranged.”

Anders chuckled as he took another gulp from his pint.

Mitchell wetted his lips, focussing on Anders’ pick as a rush of adrenaline surged through his body. That boy wouldn’t know what hit him and it was precisely this feeling of power Mitchell relished the most about hunting. Well, aside from the actual feeding, that was.

“I guess I’ll keep the lonely backpacker company, then,” Mitchell said and saw Anders’ face fall. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yes,” Anders said a bit too quickly, “You go and do your thing. I’ll stay here with my drink and keep an eye on you.”

“I’ll see you outside then, later.”

“Alright. Move, he’s on his way to the bar now.”

“Remember,” Mitchell said and leaned over to look the blond in the eyes earnestly, “It’s all fake.”

Anders nodded.

The Irishman stood up and made his way to the bar. Once Anders was out of his sight his mind focussed on the task ahead. It wasn’t Mitchell anymore, in a way. The beast was running things now and it knew exactly what it wanted. The boy’s steady heartbeat gave Mitchell a rhythm to which he moved, coming closer to his unassuming prey.

It wasn’t crowded but busy enough so Mitchell didn’t have to take care in his approach. He simply stepped behind the guy as if to wait until it was his turn to be served. Mitchell concentrated on the scent of the boy’s blood, his hoodie not quite covering the spot his fangs would pierce in due time.

Pint in hand the boy turned around and that was when Mitchell’s performance began. He took a well-measured step towards the boy, made sure that the movement was in his whole body and looked perfectly normal. The glass hit his chest, the beer spilled over the rim of the pint and wetted his shirt.

“Oh,” Mitchell said in a surprised tone and gripped the other’s shoulder as if to steady them both.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” came the immediate answer from the other man, his brown eyes wide open in astonishment.

“It’s okay, mate, it happens,” Mitchell said with a laugh, intensifying his Irish accent.

“I didn’t see you there, I’m really sorry…” the guy stuttered on and looked at Mitchell in an apologetic way.

“That’s alright, it’s a pub after all. Don’t worry about it. In fact, can I buy you another pint since the better part of it is absorbed in my shirt?” To illustrate his point Mitchell tugged at the fabric that clung to his skin, showing off his broad chest. The boy’s eyes followed obediently and Mitchell could hear his heart speed up.

“I think I should be the one buying the drinks…” his prey said as he tried to focus on Mitchell’s eyes again.

“Well, that makes two rounds already. I like how you think.” Another familiar but lingering pat on the shoulder, seasoned with a bright laugh and the boy would follow him everywhere.

He chuckled lightly and nodded. “Pleasure to meet you, even under these circumstances. I’m Aaron.”

“Paul,” Mitchell smiled and reached out to the offered hand.

 

* * * * * *

 

Anders held his pint in a tight grip as he watched Mitchell saunter over to the bar and run into the guy. It was exciting, watching him – his movements were swift as always and even though Anders knew he bumped into the guy on purpose it looked perfectly accidental. A sound performance from the little surprised step and the steadying hand on his shoulder to the easy-going laugh that brightened up everyone who heard it.

It didn’t come as a surprise to Anders that travel guy in his god-awful hoodie immediately warmed to Mitchell. How couldn’t he? Mitchell gave off the vibe of a lively, animated person who was out for a good time – even Anders could feel this effect despite being in on the plan. _Travel guy must know Mitchell is way out of his league_. Which is exactly why this would work perfectly. Hope is blindness.

Anders took another swig of his pint and tried to ignore travel guy’s nervous laughter. He stared at Mitchell’s chest a bit too long for Anders’ taste when the brunet showed off the stain the beer had left. They shook hands, both turned to the bar to order and Mitchell rested his hand casually on the other’s shoulder. He said something at which they both laughed and as soon as they both held another pint in their hands they returned to travel guy’s table.

Mitchell let himself fall gracefully on the bench while travel guy took the chair, his back facing Anders. Mitchell didn’t look up to meet Anders’ gaze but at least the blond didn’t have to see the pining looks in which the guy surely showered Mitchell.

Anders took a deep breath and tried hard to find evidence of Mitchell’s pretence in the way he grabbed travel guy’s arm while laughing about a surely stupid story. Any sort of evidence – a forced laugh or a distracted look over travel guy’s shoulder. Hell, Anders would even take Mitchell’s fingers drumming on the glass in annoyance. But none of it happened. Mitchell was focussed, interested and worst of all, charming.

It’s all in your head, Anders reminded himself with difficulty and stood up to get another drink. On the way back to his seat Mitchell threw him a quick look, checking in on him. Anders forced a smile when he actually wanted to grab travel-guy by his hood and… _Calm down_.

To keep himself from staring over to the other table like a creep Anders took out his phone. Three missed calls and four texts, all from Ty.

_”I need to talk to you”_

_“Please call me”_

_“I know you don’t want to talk to me but at least let me know you’re okay”_

_“Dawn is worried, too”_

Anders rubbed his hand through his face and sighed deeply. Knowing Ty he was sure that his concern was genuine – and acting on his own rather than on Mike’s or anyone else’s incentive. He surely meant well. He had probably only backed up Mike out of a feeling of misguided loyalty. Of all the brothers Ty was the gentlest, Anders thought, and Mike could be very convincing. But calling Ty would mean a discussion about all that delusions-business and Anders wasn’t prepared to talk about that. Ever. And especially not from a pub while his boyfrie-, uh, Mitchell was chatting up some grubby backpacker.

Even though Anders saw right through the tactic of mentioning Dawn he couldn’t help but think of her. He had left her to cover all his work with a feeble excuse. _It’s not like I don’t have proper reasons. Just none I can share with her_. Sitting alone at that table and hearing Mitchell’s animated laugh at another joke travel guy had probably forced out of his boring mind, Anders felt alone. Alone with the weight of his life on his shoulders. Everything had changed so drastically in a matter of two days that he barely knew which way was up.

Dawn would probably know what to do, he thought, she always does. But he couldn’t drag her into this. There were already too many people involved in this clusterfuck of a feud that Anders wasn’t sure if everyone would make it out unharmed. And Dawn was the last person he wanted to hurt. If she thought badly of him for abandoning her like that Anders was willing to accept that – as long as she was safe. Still, he felt a longing to listen to a familiar voice. His thumb hovered over the green button next to Dawn’s name on his phone.

“…going outside for a smoke,” Mitchell’s words tore through his thoughts. Anders put his phone away and looked in their direction. Mitchell grabbed his jacket, putting it on with a stretch of his lean torso that made his shirt ride up just enough to flash a bit of skin.

“D’you wanna come?” Mitchell asked travel guy in what sounded to Anders like a double entendre in a sultry voice.

Disgusted, Anders saw how travel guy all but jumped out of his chair, eager to follow Mitchell _. Needy prick_.

They were still chatting casually, travel guy’s hand suspiciously low on Mitchell’s back while the brunet leaned equally suspiciously into the touch as they moved through the door and out of Anders’ sight.

He took another deep breath, reminding himself that the nasty part was almost over and downed the last bit of his pint. Then, he grabbed his jacket and followed the vampire and his prey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I've never been to Bristol so that pub is entirely fictional. Although it seems every English city has a pub called "The King's Arms" ^^


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunting Pt. 2 and sexy times ahead!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update took a while because all the Anders feels in the beginning were difficult to figure out in their intensity.  
> I hope I got right! Let me make up for the waiting with a longer chapter. There's a bit of action, the plot thickens and, well, porn ^^
> 
> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy it :)

Anders stepped through the door of the pub through which Mitchell and travel guy – his prey, Anders corrected himself, because that was all he was now – had vanished five minutes earlier. Enough time for Mitchell to get down to business, Anders thought and stood still for a moment, breathing in the fresh but chilly autumn air.

Then, he took a tense look around. No one was there. Most of the people around were sticking to the main roads, leaving the alleys empty. _Good_. That way, Mitchell had all the space he needed and Bragi could fully focus on travel guy. Anders had never tried to use his powers on more than one person at a time and now was definitely not the time to try it.

He zipped up his jacket, took a left and walked down the few metres to the junction from which a barely lit alley branched off. A little cliché, yes, but he wasn’t one to judge Mitchell’s hunting. Or the things he did with and to his prey. Instead, Anders tried to focus on putting one step in front of the other and keeping his mind calm.

 _Don’t freak. No matter what you’ll see – he doesn’t substitute you_.

These words became Anders’ mantra as he reminded himself of Mitchell’s insistence that he was important to him. All the things he had done for him. He believed him, truly, but even this assurance couldn’t prepare him for the sight that waited for him behind the corner.

Mitchell, pressing travel guy against a wall. His hand squeezing Mitchell’s arse, pressing into him and leaning in for a kiss. Mitchell dodging the kiss and the guy’s lips landing on his throat. Mitchell running his hands along the guy’s sides, pushing up his shirt enough to reach his belt. Travel guy rubbing himself against Mitchell’s thigh, little moans coming out of his mouth, so distasteful and needy, his other hand roaming over Mitchell’s broad chest.

Anders clenched his fists as all these details attacked him, jealousy spreading fiery through him. The guy with his wandering hands, touching Mitchell, _his_ Mitchell… Anders’ eyes narrowed and an involuntary growl escaped his lips.

 _It’s all make-believe_.

He moved closer as travel guy busied himself with the buttons of Mitchell’s jeans.

Mitchell leaned in and showered the guy’s throat in little nips of his full lips, his hands keeping him pushed against the wall.

_Just a performance._

Travel guy’s lips were moving, forming words for Mitchell but all Anders could hear was the rush of his own blood. In the back of his mind, Bragi took the blond’s anger and put it to use. The god of poetry began spinning a seductive net of stories that would break the little bastard into the tiniest of pieces – if Anders decided to open his mouth.

But for now his human side prevailed and rationality clawed its way through Bragi’s appealing possibilities. As tempting as it was, travel guy was not guilty of anything more than falling for Mitchell’s charms – which had been the whole point of their plan in the first place. And Anders’ part of the hunt was to keep the casualty count low, he reminded himself, not to add to it.

Anders made an effort to cling to Mitchell’s reassurances, allowing for quiet steps as he was keeping to the shadows and remaining invisible to both men. Anders heard travel guy’s disgusting rasping breath with every rub of his cock on Mitchell’s thigh while the Irishman licked along his throat, no doubt searching out the vein he would tear in a matter of moments.

 _That should be me._ Mitchell should be close to him to feed on his blood. Not on some grubby backpacker who neither knew nor appreciated what special treatment he was receiving. Anders should feel Mitchell’s fangs bite down on his body, the greedy mouth on the puncture wounds, sucking at his skin while grinding into him, fucking him, making him a part of Mitchell, his lover, the vampire.

Yet Anders couldn’t take his eyes of the scene. He ground his teeth while his reason desperately tried to gain the upper hand in the battle against jealousy. Even in this surreal situation Anders couldn’t help but admire the grace and controlled power of Mitchell’s movements and the blond’s body reacted to what he saw. His throat ran dry and his cock sprang to attention at the sight of the two men, melting into each other in the gloomy dark corner.

But it was more than the voyeuristic pleasure of his position: Anders knew what travel guy must sense right about now. His mind filled in the blanks to the scene playing out in front of him – he could _feel_ it. Mitchell’s touch flickered over his skin in an echo of earlier feedings which had taken Anders to the edge many times over. The sudden pain from the bite would cloud his mind for a moment before his body worked against it. And then it would give way to pleasure and make him shiver in the best possible way.

A hiss, a sharp movement of Mitchell’s head that send his curls flying and Anders saw sharp white fangs dig into the soft flesh of the guy’s neck.

The look in the guy’s eyes turned from lust to horror in a terrible moment of understanding. His eyes grew wide, his lips parted as a wheeze came from his throat. The pain must have hit his brain, Anders thought when he saw travel guy struggle against Mitchell. But to no avail. His shoulders and hands were pinned down when Mitchell adjusted his grip and drank, drank his fill. His Adam’s apple move as he swallowed the bastard’s blood. Both sides of Anders switched positions at that view: his human part was raging in excited jealousy while Bragi simply witnessed the scene in interest, waiting for the right moment to work his magic.

Caught in between these contradicting emotions Anders continued to stare at the two men in a trance. Travel guy seemed like a mirror image of Anders. For a weird second the god didn’t feel like himself anymore but rather like an onlooker to his own situation. Travel guy didn’t reflect him in looks or character but in the way he catered to Mitchell, giving him the much-needed blood directly from his veins.

Did it look like that when Mitchell drank from him, too? It couldn’t be, Anders thought, something was different. It wasn’t Mitchell: the brunet was still clearly in control of the situation. His predatory nature had taken over entirely and he was taking what he needed, just like the times he had fed from him. No, it was his prey’s stirring that made Anders snap out of his trance.

Travel guy tried to break Mitchell’s hold of him and fought against the strong, lean body keeping him in check. He turned his head in a desperate attempt to escape Mitchell, thereby only granting him further access. His lips were tight with pain and his eyeballs were hectically jumping from one side to the other in panic.

It was then that a simple fact hit Anders bluntly and without preliminaries, as heavy as a blow to the stomach. Feeding was an act of violence.

A tiny gasp fluttered from Anders lips as he understood. Travel guy was being assaulted by Mitchell. He was hurt, scared and at Mitchell’s mercy when all he had hoped for was a smoke and fooling around with a handsome Irishman. But now there was no way out for him. And he knew that – it was spelled out in broad letters in his eyes and over his features.

Anders started to shiver at his realisation. He himself had somehow turned feeding into a kink. But seeing travel guy struggle against Mitchell Anders thought how accurate the mirror image idea had been. Suddenly, he remembered the first time he had been captured by Ivan and pinned down by Mitchell, a lifetime ago it seemed. It hadn’t been erotic, it hadn’t been exciting. Anders remembered the horrible feeling of helplessness and the pain as well as the appalling intimacy the vampire had inflicted on him.

As he simply stood there and watched the two men, his mind a whirl of jealousy and memories, he understood. Mitchell’s refusal to feed from him really was an act of… appreciation. He knew about the pain and the humiliation. And he had decided to spare Anders.

Travel guy was sputtering desperate sounds now which bounced off the walls of the alley. A pitiful sight that remembered Anders of the reason he was here – not only would he stop Mitchell from taking the guy’s life but also give him oblivion. After all, they really weren’t alike, Anders and Mitchell’s prey. The blond recognised travel guy as what he was: a necessity and a token of Mitchell’s affection for him. The vampire clearly showed him that anyone could be a source of blood, making Anders special by way of sparing him. No blood was needed for their connection and only he, Anders, would be the one to _have_ Mitchell. And Anders would be damned if he didn’t remind Mitchell of it.

Travel guy groaned and turned his head further. This was when he finally saw Anders. His eyes grew wide, his body made a last attempt at fighting Mitchell to gain Anders’ attention. A gargling sound that could’ve been a “Help me!” reached Anders’ ear and he snapped out of his musings. He would help him – just not in the way he thought. Anders made sure Bragi stuck to the original plan and let go of any vengeful ideas before letting down his guard. Bragi’s power streamed through him and with swift steps he closed the distance to the two men.

Mitchell didn’t hear him approach. The vampire was too occupied with feeding to keep an eye out for Anders – but that wasn’t necessary anyway. Anders looked at travel guy whose eyes were dull from the blood loss. A tiny speck of hope crawled into them as he anticipated Anders’ help. But travel guy was disappointed a second time that night.

Roughly, Anders grabbed the part of his shoulder he could reach without irritating Mitchell.

“Look at me,” he said, his voice raw from both the excitement to partake in the situation and from the control his gift gave him. His bottled-up human rage and godly power joined in a rush that went through his every cell.

“You listen to me, you little prick,” Anders growled, “Shut the fuck up. I don’t want to hear another word come from your lips until you’re back inside the pub. Not a sound. Are we clear on that?”

The commands rolled off Anders’ tongue naturally, Bragi singing in his mind. Travel guy couldn’t nod but the way his eyes opened even wider in confusion, horror and then acceptance told Anders that he had succumbed to Bragi.

“And get your _fucking_ hands off him,” Anders hissed. Travel guy let go of Mitchell and struggled silently against the greedy vampire feasting on his blood.

Anders felt nearly dizzy. All his senses were on overdrive – a result of his strong feelings and Bragi’s power. He could smell travel guy’s blood and his sweat. Mitchell’s grunts rang in Anders’ ears, making his heart beat faster and with half a mind he was already imagining the Irishman writhing on the sheets under him.

But first, he had a task to finish as Bragi gently reminded him.

Travel guy’s limbs were hanging down feebly. No trace of his earlier fighting spirit remained and Anders was positive that he was only standing upright because of Mitchell’s relentless grip. Time to bring this to an end.

“Mitchell, stop.” Anders said gently, banning Bragi from his voice.

Mitchell grunted in acknowledgement of Anders and started to find his way back. Yet his lips were still stuck to the guy’s throat – Anders could see the desperate last swallows Mitchell took.

“That’s enough, Mitchell.”

With a growl the Irishman let go of his prey and stumbled a few steps back, chest heaving and mouth coated in blood. He wiped the back of his hand over his lips, leaving a reddish trail on his gloves and nodded at Anders with black eyes. Without hesitation, Anders grabbed the guy by his shoulders and held him up; the blood loss had made him sway but his eyes were still wide open in fear. Yet no sound came out of his throat except for a barely audible whimper. _Good. I’m glad you understand who’s in charge._

“Listen to me,” Anders hissed, his voice resonating with Bragi’s authority, “you go back inside. You won’t talk to anyone but make your way directly to the bathroom. You wash the blood off your throat and coat and you go back to your seat. You will remember that you came out here because you felt dizzy. That’s all. Nothing happened here. No one was here. You don’t remember talking to anyone, even if someone asks you – you haven’t spoken to an Irishman. Are we clear on this?”

The guy nodded slowly.

“Good.” Anders stared at him intently. He let go of his shoulders, eager to get the bastard as far away as possible from Mitchell.

With unsteady steps that could easily be confused with a drunken stagger the guy moved back towards the entrance of the pub.

Anders’ blood was still pumping adrenaline through his veins even after travel guy had passed the door. Their hunt was over and it had been successful but that wasn’t enough to calm him down just now. Bragi retreated to the back of his mind as Anders’ body shook in suspense. He turned to Mitchell and for a moment, the two men only stared at each other.

Mitchell’s eyes were still black and for a split second Anders missed the ring of golden stains on the irises. His chest was moving in ragged breaths, his head bowed ever so slightly. The black curly hair was in disarray from the bastard’s grabby hands, his shirt half open under the jacket that sat awkwardly on the Irishman’s broad shoulders. His belt was undone and confined by his skinny jeans Anders saw a bulge – the cause of which hadn’t been him.

Even though travel guy was out of the equation now Anders couldn’t keep his jealousy at bay. Mitchell’s appearance was a reminder of the intimacy he and the little eager fucker had shared. Of course he knew that it was all an act but seeing Mitchell like that, riled up and dishevelled by the hands of another man, Anders’ rational mind gave in. With grinding teeth, the blond suddenly moved, stomping down the alley and past Mitchell.

 

* * * * *

 

Mitchell was catching his breath, the salty taste of the boy’s blood still on his tongue. The first sip had been revolting. He had forgotten how rich Anders’ blood was in comparison to a normal human being’s. The second sip was a little better as his body reacted to the much-needed blood fix and from there on out taste didn’t matter. It had been pure need beyond preferences. The boy’s struggling resistance had kicked off the beast in him, putting an enjoyable twist to his frantic feeding. And then, there had been Anders’ hand and voice that made him stop. He wasn’t exactly on a blood high like he had been with Anders but sated enough to relax and return to the situation – just in time to see Anders work his powers. The sound of Anders’ voice had been so different when he talked to the boy. It had acquired a musical quality, a pleasing sound that came in waves and strongly contrasted Anders’ grim expression. Mitchell had just stood there and watched his god. A whole different desire had grown in Mitchell as he saw the control Anders had and the confidence in his handling of the situation. Yes, Mitchell thought with determination, they truly were made for one another.

Mitchell still stared at Anders who in turn had his eyes fixed on him now that the boy had disappeared back into the pub. Unblinking and dark with emotions the vampire couldn’t place Anders focused him before storming past Mitchell.

It took Mitchell a moment to react, his mind still hazy from the hunt. By the time he turned around Anders had already reached the end of the alley.

“Anders!” Mitchell shouted and jogged to catch up with him. The blond didn’t react but kept moving.

“Anders, what’s the matter?” Mitchell asked as he reached him. The hunt had been good, why was he behaving like that?

Stoic silence greeted him and Anders kept his eyes fixed on the road, walking in long strides. His handsome profile was hardened by the clenched jaw and slowly, it dawned on Mitchell.

“I told you it’s all make-believe,” he said, keeping up with Anders’ fast pace, “I didn’t want to get that close to him but I had to…” He paused but Anders just walked on. “Are you jealous?”

Abruptly, Anders stopped and turned to Mitchell.

“Of course I am,” he hissed, eyes dark with anger, “Some fucking backpacker feels you up in front of my eyes, all horny and eager, what do you think?”

“It’s all fake, I swear….” Mitchell professed. There were only so many ways he could pronounce this fact, how was he supposed to make Anders believe him?

“Please, Anders…” he begged.

Anders breathed out deeply and rubbed his hand through his face in an agitated motion.

“I know all that, but I can’t shake it, Mitchell. I’m…” He was struggling for the right word, “I need to get it out of my system.”

“Okay…” Mitchell said, relieved that the anger seemed to have left Anders. “Scream at me if it makes you feel any better.”

Jealousy was a bitch as Mitchell well knew and if he could help Anders by listening to a couple of curses he’d gladly do it.

“No, not like that… I need you to play along.” Anders voice had taken on a dark timbre.

“Play along with what?”

“With my jealousy. Just… I don’t know, I can’t…” Anders pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Anders, just tell me,” Mitchell said carefully. Anders was starting to worry him in his vagueness.

The blond looked up, more collected now. “I need to act it out. Don’t get me wrong – I don’t want you to apologise or anything. I’m not angry at you and I know it’s all in my head but it’s… it’s not rational. I need something to act against, some obstacle… I need you to rile me up.”

Mitchell just looked at Anders and tried to understand what he was hearing. He had been afraid that something like that might happen, that Anders didn’t cope with the boy touching him… but he hadn’t anticipated something that sounded a lot like role-play to him. The Irishman let out a relieved breath. He could work with that as long as Anders was aware that the boy had meant nothing. With that basis Mitchell was resolved to do whatever it took to calm the blond.

Anders shot him a broken smile. “Is that weird?”

“No,” Mitchell shook his head, “If it helps you we’ll do that.”

 

* * * * *

 

“What?”

“How did he taste?” Anders repeated his question, taking a step towards Mitchell that closed off the way to the bedroom door.

“Good enough, I guess… not what I’m used to but it’ll do.” A non-chalant shrug followed his words.

“Did you want to fuck him?”

Anders’ anger was plainly visible on his handsome face. Mitchell saw his jaw lock and his blue eyes take on a darker colour.

“Well, you certainly picked out eye candy…” Mitchell started slowly, testing Anders’ reaction.

The blond drew his eyebrows together and narrowed his eyes, coming closer in well-measured steps. Any doubts Mitchell had had about this whole… scenario vanished when Anders focussed him like a hunter his prey.

“Didn’t you like it, Anders? The way he tugged my hair and kissed my throat… how quickly he got hard when he grabbed my arse and rolled his hips into mine. I could feel it with every move. And that filthy moan he had…”

Anders wanted to be riled up and riled up he shall be. With every word Mitchell uttered he felt excitement growing in him, both physically and mentally, set off by Anders’ stalking moves as he closed in on Mitchell. _This should be interesting_.

“Answer my question.” Anders ground his teeth and glared. An arousing aura of energy and ill-contained aggression buzzed around Anders that made it easy for Mitchell to find the right words.

“I didn’t want to fuck him,” he said, waited a heartbeat and added in a deeper voice, “I wanted _him_ to fuck _me_. Strip me down and bend me over. Right there. All while you watch.”

Anders growled and all but leapt at Mitchell, grabbing his hair and kissing him roughly, all teeth and tongue. Mitchell’s back hit the wall, drawing a huff from his lips at the sudden impact. He ran his hands over Anders’ back and squeezed his perfect arse through the jeans as the blond pushed his thigh between Mitchell’s legs. Without a second thought, or any thought really, the Irishman rubbed against it, the friction making him intensify the kiss.

Determined fingers ran over Mitchell’s body, stopping at the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head, stripping him in one rough motion. Anders’ eyes blazed with jealousy and arousal, his cheeks were flushed, lips slightly parted. Mitchell reached for the buttons on Anders’ shirt but the god grabbed his arms and pinned them on the wall, pressing himself against Mitchell. This rough side took Mitchell by surprise, kicking off something in him – a need to rile Anders up even more, a need to be dominated.

Between two bruising kisses Mitchell hissed, “I wanted you to see it. Because I know you couldn’t take it, watching some stranger fuck me raw in a dark alleyway.”

Anders’ answer was a sharp nip and he sucked at the soft skin of Mitchell’s neck, determined to leave a mark.

“Because you belong to me.” Anders’ voice was rough and gravelly, a sound that vibrated right through Mitchell. “And you forget one thing: I don’t share.”

With a quick motion Anders grabbed Mitchell and turned him around. A surprised gasp fell from Mitchell’s lips as his chest hit the wall, Anders’ hands rough and determined on his shoulders.

“Anders…” Mitchell breathed, trying to turn his arm around far enough to grab him and pull him closer or push him away, he didn’t know which. His heart sped up as he understood that he wasn’t in charge anymore. This was Anders’ show now and he clearly was in control.

Anders dodged Mitchell’s attempt to get hold of him and pressed against him with his entire body now. The fabric felt silky on Mitchell’s bare skin, the buttons of Anders’ shirt scratching down his spine.

“Not so cocky now, are we?” Anders hissed.

One hand slid over his side while the other grabbed a fistful of Mitchell’s hair and pulled. The Irishman snarled at the short but sharp pain that ended in a choked gasp when Anders licked alongside the muscles of his exposed throat. He placed his hands on the wall to keep his balance under the onslaught of Anders’ body, a second the blond used to press closer into Mitchell. Even though he was shorter Anders didn’t need to struggle to keep the Irishman pinned down – his broad build and strong arms made more than up for what he lacked in height. His right arm wound around the slim waist, his hand heavy on Mitchell’s left hip, pulling back while his hips pushed into him and keeping the brunet exactly where he wanted him.

Anders’ tongue lingered on Mitchell’s throat, warm and wet against his fluttering pulse. The irony was not lost on him and the gesture made him feel naked, stripped bare for everyone to see that he belonged to Anders, and Anders alone.

“Unbutton your jeans.” Anders’ voice was not as warm as usual and neither as honeyed as Bragi’s – what rang in Mitchell’s ears was the sound of dominance and need. The underlying growl vibrated through Mitchell, dark and rich, _and just so damn hot_ , and made him eager to follow the order.

He let go of the wall and undid his belt and jeans, his fingers not quite as apt as they used to be, his cock rock hard and sensitive against the fabric. Every nerve ending in Mitchell’s body felt on fire from too much and not enough attention at the same time. Anders’ hand was still holding him in place without a decent chance to move. Mitchell pushed down the jeans and the front of his boxers far enough to free his hard cock, moaning when his hands brushed over it.

Anders’ beard scratched along his neck as the blond whispered, “Oh no, darling, that’s not gonna happen.”

Before Mitchell could touch himself again, Anders grabbed his arms with both hands and bent them onto his back. Mitchell grunted in surprise – he could move his head and hips now but none of that helped. His muscles strained as Anders moved his wrists high enough to restrain him but not too high to inflict pain.

“You’re a fucking tease,” Mitchell hissed through gritted teeth, his voice rasping in his throat. Desperate for any sort of friction he pushed his hips back, hoping to meet Anders’. Nothing. The god had taken a step back, pushing Mitchell’s wrists into his back and pinning him against the wall once more.

“And you would know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

Anders had barely touched him and he was already a mess: Mitchell’s breathing was coming short and he felt his hair stick to his neck. Anders’ scent was all around him and his voice reverberated through him, leaving Mitchell hard and needy with no chance to act on it. Anders was everywhere but at the same time so frustratingly far away – a duality that made Mitchell dizzy with lust.

“Just fucking touch me, you prick.”

Anders’ right ran down Mitchell’s stomach while his left held both Mitchell’s wrists in position. He wrapped his fingers around Mitchell’s cock, giving it a few fast jerks. Mitchell bucked into the sudden touch with a groan from deep within his throat. Anders weight pressed back against him, making Mitchell pant at the realisation that he was utterly at Anders’ mercy. It shouldn’t feel that good, being jerked off like that, half-naked while his trousers still sat on his hips for the most part, and Anders fully clothed behind him. A shiver ran through Mitchell as Anders’ lips hit the spot where his neck met his shoulder and sucked at his skin.

“What, like that?” Anders asked in between nips.

“Fuck…” Mitchell panted, caught between Anders and the wall and constrained to frustratingly small movements.

Anders brought his mouth close to Mitchell’s ear, his breath tickling his skin.

“You need to understand one thing,” Anders growled, “you are only mine to have.”

His erection pressed against Mitchell’s arse while his hand stroked slowly, way too slowly over the brunet’s cock. An irritated groan came out of his throat as he tried to move his hips and thrust faster into Anders’ hand. But to no avail: Anders had him trapped and when Mitchell tried to free his hands, Anders’ fingers only dug deeper into his wrists. The strong sensation in the wrong place only added to Mitchell’s frustration.

“You can flirt and charm your way through the entire pub. You can drink anyone dry, hell, let them form a fucking queue for all I care.”

Anders withdrew his hand from Mitchell’s cock and pulled him back by his wrists, making him moan with need. “No…”

The blond slid up his hand over Mitchell’s sweaty stomach to his chest, brushing over his nipple. Mitchell arched his torso into the touch when Anders gave it a quick but hard pinch, balancing the thin line between pain and pleasure. The Irishman was too riled up to distinguish between the two: all he felt was a burning need throughout his body that Anders didn’t provide for just now.

Tracing his jaw line and thumbing through the stubble Anders brushed his fingertips against Mitchell’s dry lips. Mitchell obediently opened his mouth and Anders’ fingers pushed in, finally giving Mitchell a possibility to _do_ something than just being fondled and manhandled. Mitchell greedily sucked and licked, dragging his tongue over the coarse skin and swirling it around Anders’ thick fingers while the blond grinded against him.

He placed biting kisses all over Mitchell’s shoulder, making a trail of tingling marks that stretched into the back of his neck. Mitchell moaned around the fingers in his mouth. Anders’ erection rubbing against his arse through two layers of clothing just wasn’t enough, his cock painfully hard now from the lack of attention it was receiving.

With a wet sound Anders pulled his fingers from Mitchell’s mouth, leaving him desperate for more contact, any contact.

“Put your hands on the wall and keep them there,” Anders ordered harshly and let go of Mitchell’s wrists. Mitchell followed suit, his muscles shaking a little from the restriction, and with heavy breaths he leaned on his hands.

Anders roughly yanked on Mitchell’s jeans and boxers, sliding them down to mid-thigh.

“Anders…” Mitchell panted but whatever he had wanted to say disappeared in a sharp intake of breath as Anders pushed a wet finger inside him. The motion was rough but not brutal and Mitchell’s grip on the wall tightened, trying to support himself in spite of his shaking body. Anders’ finger moved while his other hand gave his cock a few jerks to take the edge off. Mitchell grunted and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, losing himself in the sensations. His breath came ragged now, a sound that was only pierced by Anders’ dark voice.

“No matter how many guys you pick up with a cheap trick - I’m the one who fucks you and you’ll come on my cock. Isn’t that right?”

A second finger followed, a little more careful but still with force.

Mitchell groaned, his hips bucking against Anders’ hand impatiently. This was good, so good, but he needed more than only two fingers moving inside him.

“Only I’ll draw these pretty sounds from your throat.”

“Anders, please…” Mitchell heard himself beg but he didn’t care, not at this stage: all his reservations and staged cockiness were gone. He couldn’t even summon it if he had to – it was Anders calling the shots and this thought held more arousing quality than any other role play for him.

“Please what? Tell me what you want.”

Anders twisted his fingers and brushed over Mitchell’s prostrate. The unexpected sensation made Mitchell hitch and before he could do anything, his arms gave in and his chest hit the wall again. A deep growl came out of his throat as he propped himself back up, Anders’ other hand winding around his chest and pulling him towards him.

“I want you to fuck me.” Mitchell’s voice was a slurring rumble.

“And what if I find someone else, hm?” Anders breathed in Mitchell’s ear, “A pretty boy who is just as eager to spread his legs for me as you are?”

“No… Anders…” Mitchell fucked himself on Anders’ fingers, his movements becoming messier by the second, “Fuck me. Now. Please.”

The hand around his chest disappeared and Mitchell heard the distinct sound of a zipper, the rustling of Anders’ trousers sliding down his thighs and the sound of Anders slicking himself with lube he must have fetched from Mitchell’s drawer. He pulled his fingers from Mitchell and the next moment, the Irishman felt Anders’ cock against his hole, easing in.

“How? How do you want me to fuck you?”

“Fast,” Mitchell panted, barely managing to make the words leave his lips, “hard, Anders… now…”

Anders grabbed his hips, dug his fingers into the skin so hard it would leave a bruise and slammed into him. Mitchell gasped and cursed under his breath at the sensation of Anders’ cock in him, _finally_ fucking him, setting a fast pace that made him claw at the wall for balance. Anders’ short breaths rang in Mitchell’s ear, a sound of need and desire at which he couldn’t help but shiver – the god wanted him as much as he did and all their bottled-up energy pumped through Mitchell in waves.

A fist grasped his curls firmly and pulled to the side and Anders’ lips crashed onto Mitchell’s with force. Mitchell pushed his tongue into Anders’ mouth, frantically licking and kissing him. The salty taste of sweat and Anders’ own flavour mixed in Mitchell’s mouth as he ate the blond’s throaty moans right off his hot lips.

Anders ran his right over Mitchell’s chest with blunt nails, leaving a tingling trail that made the brunet’s naked torso arch. With the next thrust, Anders hit Mitchell’s sweet spot.

“Anders!” he croaked and his body caved in from the strung arch to a trembling bow as Mitchell leaned against the wall to keep himself up.

At the sound of his name Anders ground into him even harder, rubbing over that spot with every move. Mitchell’s muscles clenched and twitched, weak and tough at the same time. Strong arms wound around his chest and stomach, supporting him and pressing him closer. Anders’ shirt stuck to Mitchell’s sweaty back as he thrust deeply into him. Once, twice, three times and Anders came into him, taking the Irishman with him as he hit his prostrate again. Mitchell’s gasp blended with Anders’ growl as they both collapsed against the wall, breathing heavily. Anders buried his face in Mitchell’s curls and gushes of hot breath hit his shoulder. The brunet was shaking. He could feel every single muscle in his body contract and loosen up, strained and spent.

Anders planted a kiss on his neck, his lips lingering on Mitchell’s skin softly this time. The blond’s hands stroked over Mitchell’s torso in wandering, unfocussed movements while he murmured against the Irishman’s shoulder. Mitchell could neither understand nor process his words – he was dizzy in the best possible way, unable to do anything than _exist_ in this moment, his body feeling on fire and starting to come down, knowing that Anders had been the one to turn him into such a delicious mess.

Pressing a kiss on Mitchell’s lips that the brunet could only return messily Anders pulled out of him while still supporting his body. If it weren’t for Anders’ arms grabbing him around his waist Mitchell was sure he’d stumble to the ground. He tried to regain control over his muscles, which only worked halfway, when Anders gently lead him to the bed. Mitchell followed through his haze and let himself fall on the mattress, keeping his hand on Anders.

“Let me get a cloth,” Anders said tenderly and pulled from Mitchell’s grip.

“Hurry,” Mitchell slurred and closed his eyes, trying to catch his breath. His muscles relaxed since they didn’t have to carry his weight anymore and Mitchell simply lay there, coming down from his orgasm, listening to Anders bustle about in the bathroom. He didn’t resist when Anders stripped him off his jeans and boxers, ran the cloth over his body and crawled next to him under the covers. Mitchell rolled on his side and leaned against Anders.

“You’re a kinky bastard, Anders Johnson,” he said, his voice still rough.

“Are you hurt?”Anders asked nervously, “I was too rough, wasn’t I?”

His voice held a hint of panic. No trace of his earlier behaviour remained; all roughness was gone which Mitchell took as a sign that it had in fact been a role play.

“Not hurt…” Mitchell mumbled, “just… exhausted.”

Come morning Mitchell was sure that a pretty collection of bruises would decorate his skin before they healed over the course of the day but right now his body only felt comfortably heavy, tired and relaxed.

“Do you need anything?” Anders sounded worried and moved as if to get up.

“Relax, I’m fine,” Mitchell pulled him closer, kissing him softly. Anders settled back into the cushion and stroked through Mitchell’s messy curls.

“That was… intense,” the Irishman said, adding with an easy laugh, “man, I haven’t been fucked like that in a long time.”

Anders’ chuckle softly rolled through Mitchell.

“Did it help?” the Irishman asked, “with the jealousy?”

“Yeah, it did, actually…” Anders said, his voice trailing off.

“Good, cause ‘m not sure I can take this every time we hunt…” Mitchell mumbled and felt exhaustion catching up with him. He closed his eyes, snuggling closer to Anders.

“Thanks for going along with it,” the blond said and paused for a moment, his fingers stroking over Mitchell’s back. “I get now why you don’t want to feed from me anymore.”

Mitchell remained silent but listened attentively despite his fatigue. He carded his fingers through Anders’ curly chest hair and waited.

“I was scared that without my blood I’d be entirely useless for you… that I’d be back by myself.”

The way Anders nearly whispered these words told Mitchell how bad a fate being by himself would be. No, Anders wouldn’t be alone or forced to go back to his wretched family. The vampire and the god would stick together but most importantly, Anders and Mitchell. As they were laying there, no supernatural entity sneaking in, Mitchell felt at home.

“I know it’s irrational,” Anders went on, “I believe you, that’s not the point… it’s all poison in my mind and I tried to keep it at bay… but it looked so real… I was afraid I’d lose you. But I… I saw what you see. I understand.”

Anders pressed a kiss on Mitchell’s hair.

The Irishman sighed in contentment. Then, his lips found Anders’.

“You’ll never lose me,” Mitchell whispered, barely awake but determined to tell Anders, “not to anyone. ’m all yours, Anders.”

 

* * * * *

 

Seth nervously shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“After you gave me the task I found him. He looked pretty bad, walking up and down in front of the blond Johnson’s door. He got there a few minutes after and they went in. Two hours later Mitchell left the apartment, looking much better. I think he drank from him.”

“You’re not here to utter suspicions, Seth.” Ivan looked down on the smaller man, a scrutinizing glance that seemed to shrink him even more.

Of course Mitchell was drinking from the blond god. Ivan didn’t need Seth to tell him that; he had thought so from the moment Mitchell had insisted blondie should remain unharmed. All Seth was giving him was proof to a habit that Mitchell apparently hadn’t given up over time: keep his prey for a couple of days, feed from him, fuck him, and eventually kill him. Just like the olden days. Except this time he was standing in the way of Ivan and his mission to kill Odin.

“Go on,” Ivan said in a bored voice. Seth really wasn’t one for engaging storytelling.

The other vampire hastened to follow Ivan’s order. “Nothing much happened the next 24 hours. He went back to his apartment, smoked on his balcony, usual stuff. No visitors, no leaving the place. But then, Johnson reappeared. He was piss drunk, I can tell you, and armed with a stake.”

Ivan raised an eyebrow. “A stake?”

Now that sounded a lot more interesting than the obvious facts Seth had started with.

“Yes. He got into Mitchell’s apartment.”

“He let him in?” Ivan said with doubt in his voice.

“He pretty much dragged him in. Looked like a nervous squirrel, anxious that someone might see his visitor armed.”

 _The plot thickens_. “What happened then?”

“I don’t know. I can’t observe what happens indoors now, can I?” Seth shrugged.

Ivan’s eyes turned cold, colder than they were by default. “Not only is this very anti-climactic, Seth. The way I see it you didn’t do what you were asked.”

Seth took a step back and lifted his hands in a gesture that should soften his words.

“I mean, I caught a few glimpses. The blond god didn’t kill Mitchell. Of course I can’t tell you exactly what happened but neither of them left the apartment for two days. I just saw them walk around the place.”

Ivan had a pretty clear understanding of what might have happened inside those walls. There was only one thing that could confine a vampire to a closed apartment for longer than a day. _So your boy toy kept you busy. How nice._

“And then?” Ivan asked impatiently.

“They left the apartment tonight.”

“Both of them?”

“Yes. They went to the King’s Head and Mitchell hunted.”

That was unusual. Why would Mitchell hunt when he had a source of blood at his fingertips?

“With blondie there?”

“Yes.”

Ivan’s interest was sparked. So Mitchell hadn’t simply taken a shine to their prey and, rash as he was, decided to keep him to himself. This treason, as Ivan thought of it, took on a whole different dimension the more Seth told him.

“It was strange…” Seth went on, “they were sitting together first, talking, and then Mitchell hooked up with a backpacker guy. They went outside, he fed from him and then the blond god came near. He… he talked to Mitchell’s prey and suddenly the guy stopped fighting. Just like that. It wasn’t a normal voice, though. Something was odd about it. Then, he talked to Mitchell and stopped him from killing the guy.”

Ivan hadn’t forgotten the feeling of being confined in his own body back when they had attacked Johnson. At least he had been able to process everything that had been going on around him. Mitchell’s prey – or the god’s prey, come to think of it – had surely been more affected if he had let go that easily.

So they were hunting together. _Quite a bad decision, Mitchell_. The list of actions he had taken against Ivan grew, just as Ivan’s resolution to prepare a special something for his wayward vampire.

“Did he talk to Mitchell in that odd voice, too?” Ivan wanted to know.

“No, normal. But he used his special voice on the backpacker again and he stumbled back into the pub.”

“Interesting.” To say the least. Blondie didn’t need his power to stop Mitchell from killing. Maybe their relationship was different than Ivan had thought: not Mitchell was calling the shots but the blond Johnson. Maybe Mitchell had found another master. In any case, Ivan wouldn’t make the mistake of underestimating the god once again. Especially if he could use him to get to Mitchell.

“Is that all?” Ivan asked.

“They discussed something and went back to Mitchell’s place. I came here after that.”

Ivan nodded. “You can go now.”

Relief appeared on Seth’s face and he hurried through the door of Ivan’s apartment.

All of this was very intriguing. They had come out of their shell and Mitchell was obviously determined not to leave a trail of dead bodies. _Nice try_. Even though Ivan didn’t fully understand the why and wherefore of the arrangement between god and vampire he was sure about his next step.

“Darling?” he shouted and Daisy appeared from the next room.

“I’m glad he’s gone,” she said, pressing herself against Ivan, “such a dull man…”

“Yes, he is. But did you hear what he found out?”

“Indeed. Time to pay Big Bad John a visit.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders and Mitchell are one appointment with Colin away from solving their Ivan-problem.  
> Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's violence in this chapter. Nothing overly graphic (to my mind) but since opinions differ I thought I'd mention it in advance. 
> 
> Thank you very much for your absolutely nice comments and kudos! It's very encouraging and it means a lot to ConsultingFili and me that you're still around :)  
> Hope you enjoy the new chapter!

Mitchell took a sip from his mug as Anders strode into the living room. He was wearing his grey suit with the black shirt, the only piece of his own clothing he had at Mitchell’s place. It was a mystery to Mitchell how he had managed to make the suit look neat again but it had worked. The shirt was crisp and carefully buttoned up, the jacket he wore over it looked equally tidy and the slacks hugged Anders’ backside in a more than flattering way. His hands were tying his tie in a fluent motion as Mitchell looked Anders up and down with lingering eyes.

“Well, hello there,” the brunet said and gave a whistle of appreciation through his teeth.

Anders raised an eyebrow. “Like what you see?”

“Not too bad,” Mitchell shrugged pointedly and grinned, “You look like you mean business.”

“That’s because I do. In fact,” Anders came over to the couch, a smirk on his lips, “I’m tempted to show you just how much.”

Anders’ hand combed slowly through the dark curls and tugged ever so lightly. His lips caught Mitchell’s in a lingering kiss, soft and warm with a promise of desire that invited the Irishman to run his hands over Anders’ sides.

“I’d like that, Mr Johnson…” Mitchell murmured and opened his mouth as Anders’ tongue darted out at the formal title. The blond was now standing in front of him with Mitchell’s knees on either side of his legs. Their appointment could surely wait, Mitchell thought and pulled Anders closer by the tie he had just adjusted.

“Do I detect the slightest hint of a suit kink?” Anders asked when the Irishman sneaked his hand under the blazer, moving it down to the blond’s belt.

“Anything that has accessories I can tie you up with,” Mitchell said as he looked up coyly through his long lashes with a cheeky sparkle in his eyes.

“And you say I’m the kinky bastard,” Anders grinned.

Before Mitchell could undo Anders’ belt and definitely make them late for their appointment the god took hold of his hands. He pressed a soft kiss on Mitchell’s knuckles and sat down next to him.

“How are you feeling? Are you very sore from last night?” he asked, suddenly serious and with a hint of worry in his voice.

The marks he had left on Mitchell’s skin were fading already and by tonight, no visible trace of Anders’ possessiveness would remain. His muscles felt a bit strained but every traction brought up last night’s pleasures all over again in Mitchell’s mind’s eye.

“A little. In a good way,” Mitchell said and Anders relaxed.

The brunet leaned closer to him, kissing his jaw. The beard felt nicely scratchy on his lips as he trailed little kisses up to Anders’ ear.

“Reminds me of how sexy you are when you’re dominant,” he whispered.

“Only when I’m dominant?”

“Not only,” Mitchell said in a low voice and felt Anders’ hand on his chest, “Especially.”

“Shit, Mitchell,” Anders grinned and cleared his throat, slightly pushing him away, “stop it.”

“Why?” Mitchell stole a messy kiss from Anders’ lips before there was too much space between them.

“Because unfortunately, there is not nearly enough time for you to finish what you’re starting right there,” Anders said, his voice a little breathier than before.

“Shame,” Mitchell murmured with a wicked grin.

“Tell me about it… But we have to go. You know, see Colin, make sure I don’t die and all that.”

“Yeah, right,” Mitchell sighed with a longing look at Anders’ lips, “That seems important. Let’s go.”

 

* * * * *

 

Colin had asked them to come to his house on the outskirts of town. Apparently he didn’t like to mix business and god stuff but as Mitchell looked at the building – a mansion, really – he was pretty sure that that this wasn’t the only reason. The building was of a “modern” style, composed from cold grey stone and intersected with reflecting glass panes. _There goes the decision whether I should introduce myself as a vampire_.

Mitchell had decided that he didn’t like Colin even before they arrived at the iron gate that sealed off the entire property. Everything about that house screamed money and understatement – a combination Mitchell couldn’t stand. It wasn’t envy for money. They should enjoy their earnings for all he cared but in his experience, this forced understatement was a practice connected with arrogance and misled pride.

The fact that they had to wait at the gate and announce themselves despite their fixed appointment pissed him off already. _Conceited prick_.

As they walked up the path to the house, Anders quickly squeezed his arm. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ll do the talking. Just relax.”

Mitchell nodded and tried his best to ban the surely brooding look from his face. He didn’t have to like this Colin character, he reminded himself. The important thing was the deal. As much as he hated being in anyone’s debt it couldn’t be helped this time. And if they end up free from Ivan and his crusade it was worth whatever Colin would demand.

They were asked in and a moment later, a man dressed in a three-piece suit of dark red approached them.

“Anders. Pleasure to see you,” the man said and extended his hand to Anders who shook it.

Anders gave him a wry smile. “I highly doubt that.”

“And rightly so. I’m just being mannered. Who is your brooding friend?” He nodded in Mitchell’s direction as if he wasn’t able to speak for himself.

Anders threw him a calming look and introduced them.

“Mitchell, this is Colin Gunderson. Colin, Mitchell.”

The vampire nodded by way of greeting or rather acknowledgement.

“And do you have a second name, Mitchell?” Colin asked him directly this time.

“Mitchell is my second name,” the Irishman said in a neutral voice.

“Huh.” Colin looked at Mitchell as if to assess him. As he tried to stare the brunet down Mitchell noted that his eyes were of an unusual dark blue.

 _That doesn’t work on me_. Mitchell hadn’t lived over a hundred years to yield to a preposterous lawyer now. He held Colin’s gaze, making it clear that he was neither willing to give more information nor impressed by his person or his possessions.

Colin turned back to Anders without offering a handshake to the brunet. _Arrogance, check_.

“I thought this would be a cosy little chat between the two of us and not a threesome?”

Mitchell internally rolled his eyes whereas Anders didn’t even address the sleazy comment.

“You thought wrong,” the blond coolly said, “Mitchell is essential to the situation.”

Anders had slipped on what Mitchell suspected to be his PR mask. In fact, he vaguely remembered this look and demeanour from their very early meetings. Anders’ voice rang with a matter-of-fact tone that presented just enough authority to stress who was in charge. The very same angle Colin was going for as well. Mitchell didn’t know that much about the guy but just from reading the room this meeting already had explosive potential, in any direction.

“In that case, we should take a seat,” Colin said and led the way.

Anders and Mitchell followed Colin into the most pretentious living room the Irishman had ever seen. The walls were blank except for one massive piece of what apparently was modern art. In the middle of the largely empty room stood a couch and two armchairs in red leather around a coffee table in front of a fireplace. A small fire was burning. They declined refreshments and sat down, Mitchell placing himself on the couch next to Anders. They had agreed that it was probably for the best to tell Colin almost the whole story – obviously without their initial blood deal and the other Johnson’s part in this. After all Colin needed all the information he could get if he agreed to their proposal and without enough material he was unlikely to agree, as Anders had pointed out.

Mitchell kept a close eye on Colin as Anders explained their situation, talking about Ivan and Daisy, their plan to kill Odin, the mix-up and the need to get rid of the vampires. Colin didn’t interrupt Anders once.

When he had ended his report, Colin leaned forward.

“Let me get this straight: you are asking me to kill two vampires for you.”

“Yes.” Anders nodded.

“May I ask why you don’t do it yourself? Mr Mitchell here seems capable and he is a vampire as well. I imagine he knows all the tricks.”

“Several reasons,” Mitchell cut in coldly, not willing to be treated like furniture any longer, “None that concern you.”

“Interesting.” Colin let his gaze wander over Mitchell once more. He could stare all he liked, Mitchell thought, he wouldn’t be intimidated so easily.

“Suppose I say yes,” Colin turned to Anders again, “what do I get out of it?”

“A fair chance to survive. If those two find Axl and kill him all your hopes of gaining your full powers will be gone as well.” Anders delivered those lines smoothly.

“True…” Colin considered and for a split second Mitchell thought this argument had cracked him.

Then, a presumptuous grin appeared on Colin’s face and Mitchell’s hope wilted. Of course he would negotiate.

“But I need some more, Anders, mate. This is murder I’m putting on my conscience.” Colin tried a concerned look that didn’t sit right with him.

Anders didn’t miss a beat. “I’m sure you have dealt with worse.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that you have to upgrade your offer.” The slight smile didn’t soften Colin’s words and Mitchell grew tense on the bloody creaking sofa.

The two adversaries looked at each other in silence. Mitchell felt Anders’ decision more than he saw it from the corner of his eye.

The blond nodded slowly. “What do you want?”

“A favour that I can call in. Anytime. Anything.” Colin was talking business now, that much was clear. No well-calculated smiles or lines were left. What sat opposite Mitchell and Anders was a business man who was used to getting what he wanted.

Mitchell wetted his lips nervously as he looked at Anders. This wasn’t good. Giving out open favours to friends already was a risky business but to someone like Colin? The thought of what he could ask of Anders made Mitchell edgy.

“A blank cheque? No way,” Anders answered in a clear voice.

Unimpressed, Colin said, “Well, I guess then your vampiric blood hound will have to take care of your business.”

Mitchell made an effort not to jump over the ridiculously large coffee table and _take care of his business_ with Colin to start off. He stared at the lawyer without batting an eye.

“He’s not my…” Anders began and shook his head. Then, he started anew.

“Colin, come on. This is your life on the line as well.”

“And I am attached to it, I assure you. But if that Ivan bloke doesn’t believe Mr Mitchell after his frankly careless behaviour and suspects you’re Odin after all…” he let the sentence hang between them for a moment, “The way I see it there’s a good chance they’ll just get you and be done with it.”

“They are never _done with it_ ,” Mitchell interrupted, anger rising up in him at Colin’s ridiculous carelessness, “they are predators. They’ll take out one after the other and even you can’t run forever.”

He added with as much poignancy as possible, “Loki.”

Indifferent to his sharp statement Colin sized him up. “You underestimate my powers.”

“You underestimate theirs,” Mitchell retorted.

Colin raised an eyebrow and moved on the couch, actually focussing Mitchell for once.

“And where do you stand in this very gripping tale you’re spinning? Seeing that you’re a vampire who betrays his kind.”

“I’m on Anders’ side,” Mitchell said seriously which only drew a shrug from Colin.

“Think of me what you will, Mr Gunderson,” he went on and put a thin smile on his lips, “We don’t need to be friends and we very likely never will be. But that’s beside the point. The important question is whether we have a deal or not.”

“A question that shall be answered when Anders replies to my demands.”

“Colin, I don’t do open favours. Tell me something fixed that you want and we can arrange a compromise.”

“I don’t think you understand how gracious my offer is, Anders. After all, I do the dirty work for you and additionally I am nice enough not to ask anything of Mr Mitchell. A blank cheque is the least you can provide.”

Mitchell ground his teeth. _Sneaky bastard_. Of course he had nothing to offer to Colin since he apparently only dealt in favours. They didn’t know each other and he sure as hell didn’t want anything from Mitchell – this seemingly generous gesture was only a tool to point out his superior status once more. Mitchell could see in Anders’ tense face that he had arrived at the same conclusion.

Anders looked Colin squarely in the eyes. “That is only an option with a few restrictions.”

Colin laughed, shortly and as if he read the words “ha ha” from a page. The staccato sound rang unpleasantly in Mitchell’s ears. “It’s not a blank cheque then, is it?”

Without paying any mind to Colin’s words Anders went on in a steady voice.

“My conditions are the following: I won’t hurt or inconvenience my family, Mitchell or Dawn. If your so-called favour has anything remotely to do with them, I’m out. That’s as blank as it gets.”

A few seconds passed before Colin finally nodded. “Alright.”

 

* * * * *

 

Colin walked Anders and Mitchell to the door where he sent them off with a sly grin that showed just how much he considered himself the winner of this deal. And he was – an open favour he could call in with the god of poetry was certainly a charming compensation for setting two vampires on fire. In fact, Colin had already an idea what he would use the favour for. This city needed a new Mayor, after all.

But something about this whole scenario didn’t add up, Colin thought as he walked back into the living room. Vampires and gods don’t mix, usually and that Mitchell bloke looked anything but happy. Colin took his phone out of his pocket, scrolled down the contact list and pressed the button with an expectant chuckle.

“Hello Mikkel,” he said as the call connected, “Your brother keeps interesting company.”

 

* * * * *

 

Their appointment with Colin had taken longer than expected but it was still light outside, barely four o’ clock. Grey October clouds hung in the sky as they walked back to Mitchell’s apartment.

“What a prick,” the Irishman scoffed.

Anders shrugged. “Yeah… told you.”

“I’m impressed you remained so calm. He wasn’t exactly friendly to you…”

Mitchell shook his head and drew his brows together, “You know, he’s the kind of guy who would’ve let me stand outside because of the bloody vampire-door-thing. He probably would’ve waved at me just to drive the point home. And how he constantly undermined everything we said in that bloody conceited tone…”

Now that they were back on the street his anger bubbled up again, this time without restrictions. Colin had really rubbed him the wrong way. Mitchell wouldn’t describe himself as the most polite of people but that disrespectful prick of a lawyer… unbelievable. At the same time, Mitchell had to admit that his negotiation skills were excellent. Which pissed him off even more.

“Don’t take it personally,” Anders said, not fazed by either Colin or Mitchell’s rant, “He’s like that with everyone. The main thing is that our problem will soon be solved.”

“Let’s hope he sticks to his side of the deal,” Mitchell grumbled.

“He will. He’s an arsehole but a clever one. He understands that it needs doing.”

The brunet nodded only to keep on at the subject, “And I really don’t like this ‘calling in a favour’ shit.”

“Mitchell…” Anders ran a soothing hand down the brunet’s arm.

“I’m telling you it’ll be more than unpleasant for us.”

“Us?”

“Yeah,” Mitchell stopped and turned to Anders, “Don’t think I’ll leave you alone with that bastard.”

Anders flashed him a short smile. “You know, you’re really cute when you’re disgruntled Prince Charming.”

“You’re an idiot,” Mitchell huffed amused before moving on. “I mean it, though. People like him call in nasty favours.”

“I know, Mitchell. I’m not particularly happy about it either but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Something was strange, Mitchell thought as they turned a corner into a smaller street, flanked by houses on the right and a high fence on the left. An uneasy feeling crept up on him at the almost empty street. It shouldn’t be this quiet that time of day.

“Besides, it’ll be a while until he asks for anything,” Anders continued, “he will want to make it count so there won’t be hasty decision making on his part…”

The street was about fifty metres long and ended on a parallel main road where cars were rushing by. In the entrance of one of the houses a man stood, smoking a cigarette. He looked at them and took another drag of his fag before turning his attention back to the main road that was Anders’ and Mitchell’s destination.

“I’d say we lay low and wait until Colin gets back to us. We’re safe at your apartment. As for Axl, I think I’ll call Ty later on and let him know. He can talk to the others…”

A second man turned into the street from opposite Anders and Mitchell. He approached and Mitchell thought he saw him give a slight nod to the smoker leaning on the entrance. _You’re being paranoid. They don’t know each other. He’s just crossing the street, same as you_. But Mitchell couldn’t shake it. Rather than listening to Anders he tried to take in as much from his surroundings as possible.

“Mitchell?” Anders asked.

“Huh?” This street was a bottleneck. The row of houses to the right was solid, the fence on the left battened down without so much as a crack between the individual pieces. A cat had a fair chance but no man could squeeze through.

A second figure entered the street from opposite, this time from the right. A woman.

“Are you okay?”

“This isn’t right,” Mitchell said tensely and slowed his steps down.

Anders followed suit. “What do you mean?”

The woman was lining up with the first guy, keeping to the middle of the road. To the right the smoker stubbed out his cigarette on the wall and walked towards them. They were forming a casual line now.

“Something’s going on.”

“What? Are you sure? Mitchell…” Anders voice was heavy with tension and worry.

“Turn around. Walk back the way we came and when you’re out of sight, run,” Mitchell said through gritted teeth and kept his eyes fixed on the three people coming closer.

“What about you?”

Mitchell was almost certain that the three were vampires. Their movements were too smooth for a normal human being’s and the way they arranged themselves in a semi circle looked way too planned. His muscles tensed in anticipation. Whatever was going down here, he had to get Anders out of the picture. Mitchell couldn’t fight and protect his god at the same time.

“Do as I say. Now!”

He threw Anders a pleading look and just as the last word had left Mitchell’s lips, the man on the left sprinted at him. Mitchell barely had time to react – his gaze was still focussed on Anders when from the corner of his eye he saw the man jump at him.

With a fast motion Mitchell turned to him and prepared for the impact he couldn’t avoid. He stumbled back when the man slammed into him with his full weight; Mitchell’s back hit the fence on the side of the road. The collision drew the air out of his lungs as the vampire pinned him down. Mitchell struggled against the strong grip, hissing in rage. The man kept him not only from moving but also from looking for Anders. All the Irishman could see was his enemy’s face, contorted with a snarl. A hard kick to the thigh made the man loosen his grip for a second and Mitchell pulled his hands free. He grabbed the vampire by shoulders but before Mitchell could get a punch in, a knee hit him hard in the stomach. Mitchell gasped as the dull pain spread through his torso. The man aimed a second time and hit just below the first blow, making Mitchell slide down the fence into a crouching position. For a second, he was dizzy, his stomach cramping violently. _Run away, Anders_. Mitchell did his best to keep himself focussed despite the pain, too worried about Anders to plan his immediate response. Off to his right he saw how the woman placed herself between Anders and him but still the Irishman managed to get a glimpse of the god. The smoker aimed a punch at Anders’ throat which he barely warded off. This wasn’t a fight the blond could win.

With the next breath Mitchell’s instincts took over. His eyes switched to black, facing the equally black pupils of his adversary as his fangs protruded with an angry hiss. All he could think of was Anders being attacked a few metres next to him, probably being beaten into pulp while he was stuck to that bloody fence.

The man raised his hand to go in for a punch.

“Anders!” Mitchell shouted in a coarse but strong voice and used the moment of irritation on the man’s part to strike back.

He jammed his shoulder into the man’s stomach, putting all his aggression and anger behind the motion. A satisfying gasp came from the man’s lips as he stumbled back but before he could get farther than a few steps, Mitchell grabbed him by the collar with both hands. A quick motion and he head-butted the other vampire, hitting the bridge of his nose. Blood splattered from the man’s nostrils and while he tried to regain focus, Mitchell went in for a hit. The Irishman’s right hook landed on the vampire’s cheekbone. Mitchell took a second swipe at him but in that instant, the woman made her move: a hard punch to the ribs deflected Mitchell’s hit, barely grazing his enemy’s face, and he roared in pain. He felt the distinct cracking more than he heard it. Strong hands clawed at his jacket as the vampire pulled Mitchell around, away from the fence. Mitchell stumbled, acutely aware that the woman was now standing behind him, trapping him between the two vampires.

Mitchell’s chest was heaving as he tried to watch out for both foes. His eyes jumped hectically back and forth as he continued to move in small steps, desperately hoping to see the punch coming before it hit him. At the very edge of his vision he saw Anders’ blond shock of hair. He was fighting another man now, the first attacker walked to the end of the street, seemingly not bothered by the fight anymore. _So he used Bragi_.

Mitchell’s short relief quickly died down when he realised that Anders wasn’t fighting – he was choking. The other man held him by the throat, not bothered by Anders’ unfocussed attempts at hitting him.

It was only a split second that Mitchell could take in the scene. His thoughts rushed through his mind – he could probably take another hit from his enemies but Anders? The god wasn’t a street fight kind of guy and even if he was the vampires exceeded him in strength and agility. _Do something_.

The two vampires circled Mitchell, moving in closer. Blood was still running from the man’s nose and he was swaying slightly so Mitchell decided on the spot.

“Get out of my way,” the Irishman hissed and with a snarl he attacked the female vampire who was in his way to get to Anders. The woman didn’t flinch but moved into a defensive position. No plan of attack was on Mitchell’s mind – all that counted was getting to Anders before he passed out under the hands of the second, newly arrived enemy. Mitchell’s weight hit the woman with speed and she stumbled backwards, losing her balance. A surprised gasp came out of the woman’s mouth as she fell to the ground. Before her body hit the street her arm darted out, grabbing Mitchell’s collar and dragging him down with her. The next thing he knew his hands were scraping over the asphalt as he crashed on top of the woman. She jerked her head up to dig her fangs into his flesh but Mitchell’s instincts made him move fast enough. He was scrambling to get back on his feet but the woman lying under him tried to keep him on the ground. Her legs wound around his, her nails had somehow found the skin on his sides and Mitchell grunted in pain as he struggled to get up. _Anders_. He needed to get to Anders. Mitchell kneed her in the guts at an awkward angle but apparently he had hit hard enough and she let go with a pained gasp. Anders was still struggling with the man but it seemed that he had landed a few good punches and kicks: his adversary had a swollen cheek and Anders was well on his way of wriggling out of the tight grip.

Mitchell made it to his feet again, swaying, but in direction to Anders when a strong punch hit the Irishman in the back.

The man had apparently regained his balance and attacked, narrowly missing Mitchell’s kidneys but it was more than enough to make him stagger. Pain flooded through him as the residue of the impact arrived at his broken rib. Every move of his squashed torso sent a new wave of sharp pain through Mitchell as the vampires changed their position again. The woman closed in from behind, looking battered but no less determined. Mitchell was still heaving, trying to cope with the pain and unable to move. She used the moment to her advantage, grabbed his arms and bent them behind his body. From the front, the man was approaching. Mitchell knew that the next blow would hit him with full force. He struggled to break the woman’s strong grip of his arms but before he achieved anything, the man’s fist hit Mitchell directly in the face, once, twice, and he tasted blood in his mouth. His sight became blurry; his heart was racing and pumping adrenaline through his veins, keeping him from feeling the full impact of the pain and passing out right there and then. The woman’s hold of him was freakishly strong, not easing up despite his best efforts. Before a third hit could land on his face and knock him out, Mitchell took his chance: he leaned against her with most of his weight, pushed himself off and kicked the vampire in front of him, hitting him just over the groin. His knees gave in and he crouched on the ground while Mitchell managed to get one arm free with a yank that pulled painfully at his shoulder. His elbow found the woman’s face and she finally let go of him with a grunt.

“Anders!” he shouted, trying to keep his dizziness at bay and finding the god in the narrow street. _Save Anders_. He couldn’t let that bastard choke the life out of him, he couldn’t lose Anders. Mitchell’s staggering attempt to run towards Anders was cut short when the woman jumped at him from behind. She pulled at his hair roughly and clawed her nails into the soft part of his throat. Mitchell wheezed in pain and spun around, desperately trying to get rid of her. The male vampire was standing up again, _fuck knows how_ , and the woman gave Mitchell a hard shove that made him stumble directly in the man’s arms. He greeted him with another hook to his face and Mitchell’s vision dissolved into tiny blinking dots that danced in front of his eyes. The woman kicked into his knees from behind, not even particularly hard, but Mitchell felt his legs give in.

He must have had passed out for a few minutes because the next thing he felt was his body being restrained by the two vampires as he knelt on the ground. Mitchell’s head was spinning, his breathing coming in ragged gulps. He tried for a last stand, struggled, but strong hands kept him in place.

“Big Bad John… you’re not going anywhere,” said a voice in his back and with panic rising in his stomach Mitchell realised that it was true. There was no way out for him, not in this state.

In this moment of relative calm, he felt every hit he had taken – his broken rib hurt like hell, his stomach was cramping and his left eye was about to swell. Blood was running from his nose over his lips and dripped on the ground as he bowed his head. Every superficial scratch was throbbing and burning and the iron taste of his own blood lay heavily on his tongue.

 _Anders_. Panic made Mitchell’s throat tighten and he turned his head to each side as far as his captors would allow.

About three metres to his right Anders was kneeling in the same position as Mitchell, knees spread apart and resting on his heels. He looked awful. His cheek was a red mess and a small trail of blood ran down his pale face. His shirt was torn, revealing choking marks on his throat that just began to show. His mouth was smeared with blood that came from a nasty cut on his lower lip. Yet what shocked Mitchell the most was the piece of cloth that was roughly shoved into the blond’s mouth and was tied tightly around his head. Behind Anders stood his attacker, one hand steadily on the gag, the other restraining his arms. Anders was swaying and the wide-eyed look he gave Mitchell was one of unrestrained fear.

Mitchell tried his best to nod at Anders, to calm him down somehow. If he talked to Anders he’d probably give the vampires another reason to hurt them. He needed to find out what the hell was going on here but when he tried to speak only a rasping sound came out of his throat, ending in a violent cough. He spat blood on the ground.

“What do you want?” Mitchell finally croaked out, “Answer me.” No authority was behind his command.

“What the _fuck_ do you want?” he repeated, chest heaving from exhaustion, but still no reaction came from their captors.

Why were Anders and he still alive? All the hits they both had taken had been painful and strong, yes, but nothing to kill a man. No knives, no proper knock-out punches. It didn’t make any sense that they knelt here, battered, bruised and tied up, ready to be presented to….

“Possibly a jab at Big Bad John,” a well-known sophisticated voice answered Mitchell’s question, “you are a celebrity after all.”

Dressed in a sharp suit a man appeared at the end of the street. In a casual strut he came closer, hands shoved into the pockets of his dark slacks. A curly-haired woman in a summer dress, looking misplaced in this chilly weather, followed him with a mean giggle.

“Or maybe…” the man’s Welsh accent filled the alley, “I told them to bring me John Mitchell and his blond lover.”

“Ivan.”

“Hello Mitchell.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike gets a call from Colin while Ivan and Daisy have our boys literally on their knees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your nice comments on the last chapter!  
> I don't know where all you new subscribers and readers come from but: hello! *waves* Lovely of you to stop by and I hope you enjoy the story :)

“Your brother keeps interesting company,“ Colin’s voice came out of Mike’s mobile.

“Colin,” he said, slightly annoyed. “Why, what’s up with Axl this time?”

“Oh no, I’m not talking about my Lord Odin.”

“Then who?”

“Anders.”

“Anders? I don’t know what you mean. I haven’t seen him in a good while.”

“Vampires, Mikkel. He is quite cosy with a vampire called Mitchell. Don’t tell me you didn’t know that?”

“Mitchell?” Mike asked incredulously.

Colin couldn’t be serious. Mitchell wasn’t real.

“That’s his name. Dark, brooding type and quite taken with your boy Anders.”

He couldn’t be real. Mitchell was just a coping mechanism for Anders. A fragment of his imagination to deal with Helen’s death and Gaia becoming Idunn, yes, but no actual person.

“And how do you know about that?” Mike asked, warily.

“They paid me a visit and made an interesting proposition.”

Mike narrowed his eyes. Perhaps the God of Lies was toying with him, taking Anders’ vulnerability to have a pop at him.

A spark of shame went through Mike. He should’ve called Anders, made sure he got the help he needed. But with every passing day it had become harder to make that call. And now, Anders had turned to Colin. Of all people.

“The two of them came by and talked to you,” Mike asked again, trying to ensure that Colin wasn’t making that up.

“Yes, that’s what I said. Well, Mitchell mostly stared but both were here.”

Colin’s voice held the slightest hint of irritation at Mike’s insistent question. He wasn’t lying, Mike realised, Mitchell _was_ real. _Shit_.

He cleared his throat. “What kind of proposition?”

“That it is my honourable task to take out our number one threat,” Colin answered.

“And that would be…”

“Other vampires, Mikkel,” Colin said slowly as if talking to a particularly stupid person, “don’t you read the news?”

“Colin, what’s your game? What do you want from me?”

“Just a general heads-up, seeing that all our powers are endangered here. Don’t do anything stupid until I’ve taken care of the situation.”

Just like that, the line went dead.

Mike stared at his phone for a moment, trying to make sense of Colin’s words.

Anders wasn’t crazy. Anders was indeed working with a vampire called Mitchell. Said vampire fed on him, bleeding him dry. Maybe even the part about protecting his family was true. And now Anders and Mitchell collaborated with Colin.

Quickly, Mike scrolled through his contacts. This wasn’t a problem he could tackle by himself. They all had let Anders down and now it was up to them to free him from the vampire’s grip – and Colin’s.

“Ty? Listen, we need to meet immediately. At the bar. I’ll call the others.”

 

* * * * *

 

“Ivan.” Mitchell’s voice betrayed nothing of his nervousness. To be fair, the sound coming out of his throat was rasping, his mouth still filling up with blood from the wounds Ivan’s henchmen had inflicted on him. To his right Mitchell heard Anders’ futile attempt to cough with the gag in his mouth. A terrible choking sound.

“Evening, Mitchell,” Ivan said in a casual voice and nodded at him.

“Take that fucking cloth out of his mouth!” Mitchell shouted and struggled against the two vampires restraining him. His body was aching in a million different places but Ivan’s careless demeanour had sparked the last burst of aggression Mitchell was able to muster. His chest arched and he growled as one of the vampires roughly shoved him down again.

“Mhm… no,” Ivan walked over to Anders and let his eyes travel over his stature, a fine smile playing around his lips, “I had one taste of his sugary voice and I don’t care for a second treat.”

He turned on his heel and returned to stand in front of Mitchell; so close in fact that Mitchell had to look up to catch his gaze. The nail marks the woman had left on his neck burned.

From the corner of his eye Mitchell saw how Daisy knelt down next to Anders. He was swaying slightly, blood still dripping from the cut on his lips. His eyes, however, were alert and grew wide as Daisy lifted her hand.

“Daisy,” Mitchell growled, “don’t you fucking dare to touch him.”

“Or you’ll do what? I don’t think you’ll have many options,” she said in her thick Scottish accent. With a triumphant smile she ran her hand lightly over Anders’ bruised cheek and down his neck. Anders flinched slightly but kept his look fixed on Mitchell.

”What do you want, Ivan?” Mitchell hissed, looking up at him. _Come a little closer and I’ll attack_.

“Answers.”

“To what?” Mitchell spat out the blood that had pooled in his mouth. He purposely missed Ivan’s shoes but with grim gratification he saw a few splashes land on the leather.

Ivan barely raised an eyebrow. “Questions.”

“And you can’t ask like a civilized person?”

“Look at you Mitchell,” Ivan said with a cold smile, “talking about civilized behaviour. Isn’t that something new. Did he teach you that? Have you found another voice to answer to, then?”

He nodded at Anders who was visibly straining to keep calm. He coughed again against the cloth while Daisy remained next to him, invading his personal space.

Mitchell’s face turned rigid. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh come on, Mitchell. After what, 80 years? After all this time do you think I don’t notice when you keep something from me?”

“Let him go and I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

Ivan looked to the side as if contemplating Mitchell’s offer. “No.”

“No?” Anders’ coughs acquired a choking note. _This isn’t good_.

“He stays here.”

“At least take the gag out, Ivan,” Mitchell said, trying not to show his worry, “He’s gonna choke on his own blood.”

Daisy looked at Anders in fascination, watching him struggle against the cloth. Anders’ breathing was way too fast and too deep, Mitchell thought as the sound reached his ears.

Ivan took a cigarette case out of his jacket pocket. “Quite a poetic death, wouldn’t you say? Playing blood bank for you and then choking on the very essence of your relationship?”

 _He knows about the blood_. The figure Mitchell had seen from the balcony hadn’t been a cat, then. Who knew what else Ivan – or rather his underlings – had found out. Mitchell tried to keep calm. Neither rage nor worry would help him here so he didn’t bother to address the older vampire’s words.

“Ivan, I mean it. Look at him. Your thugs have been thorough.”

The cigarette case snapped shut.

“Daisy…” Ivan said in a bored voice, lighting the cigarette between his lips.

She grabbed Anders by the shoulders to hold him still for a moment. “One enchanted word and I’ll rip your throat out, darling.”

The playful tone of her words contrasted the situation almost comically.

Anders nodded. Relieved, Mitchell saw how Daisy removed the gag from the blond’s mouth. A wheezing intake of breath, a violent cough and Anders leaned forward, still held in check by his attacker behind him.

“So, Mitchell…” Ivan tried to catch the Irishman’s attention again, “why don’t we start our little Q&A with an easy question: who is blondie over here?”

Anders’ chest heaved in deep breaths but otherwise he seemed to be okay, considering the circumstances. Mitchell threw him a calming look that the god returned. The panic vanished from his eyes now that he wasn’t gagged anymore. Still Daisy was circling him like a cat that could dig her claws into him any time.

“Anders,” Mitchell answered the question in defiance. Of course it was risky to play with Ivan but the Irishman wasn’t prepared to give up too easily.

Ivan nodded and couched down in front of Mitchell, bringing their faces to one level.

“See, this is not a good answer.” The hand that wasn’t holding the cigarette shot out and his fingers dug into Mitchell’s left side –finding his broken rib.

Mitchell let out a dark howl as pain flashed through him. Each of Ivan’s fingers had found another spot to put pressure on; the sharp wave of sensation made Mitchell sick to the stomach.

“Ivan…” he gasped, blinking through the tiny dots his field of vision was consisting of once more.

“You’ll tell me eventually, we both know that. Why do you put yourself through this? For him?”

Ivan still talked in a calm, casual voice while Mitchell wheezed in pain. He couldn’t move and the only reason he hadn’t hit the ground head-first were the two vampires who kept him upright.

“Anders Johnson,” Mitchell said through gritted teeth.

“Getting there. Which god, Mitchell?”

Ivan’s hand still rested on his broken rib, not squeezing but a constant threat. Mitchell wetted his chapped lips. There was no helping it. Ivan would find out one way or another.

“Bragi,” Mitchell coughed, “God of Poetry.”

“Is that right…” Ivan tilted his head, “You’ve told me all kinds of tales lately, none of which are necessarily true. Especially given your… involvement with Anders here I’d say you’re biased.”

“Our _involvement_ is none of your business,” Mitchell hissed. Ivan raised an eyebrow and looked over to Daisy. She had taken to carding her fingers through Anders’ hair. At Mitchell’s words she stopped and gave him a strange look that Mitchell couldn’t place.

“Ivan, I’m telling the truth.”

“Are you?” Ivan stood up and Mitchell shivered as his fingers left the broken bone, “Look, I know how we handled things in the past and I know of your habit to keep your prey a while. Big Bad John’s signature style: Fuck and feed and eventually, kill. And it’s fine by me, we all have our preferences. But why did you pick our enemy?”

“He is not our enemy, Ivan. And he also isn’t Odin so let him go.”

Anders kept quiet at the older vampire’s scrutinizing look and didn’t move a muscle despite Daisy fussing around him.

Ivan took a drag from his cigarette. “Suppose you tell the truth. He is still a god. He is still interested in gaining his powers, in becoming almighty and rule.”

“Do you really believe that?” Mitchell spat out, “Are you seriously telling me that you are afraid that a couple of Norse gods will set out to oppress us vampires and rule the earth or some such shit?”

“Are you telling me you are not?” Daisy asked, her hand clenching around Anders’ shoulder, “The arrogance on you, Mitchell.”

Ivan nodded. “Are you that misguided that you think there is no one to threaten us? Vampires as superior to any other creature – now where have I heard that before? That is Herrick talking, not you. Mitchell, you’re smarter than that. Of course our kind is well-established, powerful even. But that doesn’t make us invincible. There is always someone out to get us, in case you haven’t noticed, and if there is no one for a change we turn on ourselves. This time, however, we have a defined adversary. Him and his bunch of vessels.”

Ivan threw his cigarette vaguely in Anders’ direction.

“What do you care?” Mitchell growled, “You’re not one for world domination fantasies.”

“Indeed not. As you know I prefer to steer clear of politics. But this isn’t politics any longer, Mitchell, it’s survival. With Frigg and Odin incarnated at the same time the plot thickens, don’t you think? Just imagine what they were capable of. What _he_ ,” Ivan nodded at Anders, “would do to you. Do you think they will take pity on you because of whatever it is that connects the two of you?”

Ivan had it all wrong. Anders wouldn’t do anything to him, regardless of his powers. If Ivan could understand that this wasn’t a blood deal anymore then maybe Mitchell could get them out of this alive, somehow…

“You didn’t hurt Daisy,” Mitchell said.

“No, I didn’t,” Ivan wrinkled his forehead for a moment.

_He gets it. He understands what Anders is to me._

“And you’re right,” Ivan went on, “the gods would probably not start off by killing humanity. It would be us vampires they’d fight first.”

 _Fuck_.

“We would be the number one threat to their rule so they would strike fast and brutally. When we are taken care of other supernatural creatures will be done for, one by one the Norse gods will take out any species that could be potentially dangerous for them. And then, when only humanity is left, they will appear as saviours, make them dependent on their grace. Little puppets that dance for the new gods and do everything to their liking. Before you know we’re back to ritual sacrifices and vengeful outbursts. Frankly, I don’t care about all that too much. I don’t even care for _our_ society as a whole but I like my existence, my life with Daisy and I want it to remain like that. The key to which is eliminating Odin.”

Mitchell shook his head and grimaced when he felt like losing his balance. “You don’t know that this will happen.”

“I don’t know that it won’t happen.”

“If it’s such a big problem why didn’t you get the other Old Ones involved? Have back-up?” Mitchell shouted, feeling agitation getting the better of him.

Ivan’s speech pissed him off. How much longer did he have to crouch here until this fucking interrogation was done with? And most importantly, what would happen to Anders? Another growl built up in Mitchell’s throat when he saw Daisy way too close to the god, continuing to touch him.

“ _You_ were my back up, Mitchell,” Ivan said, anger lashing out in a quick burst, “But instead of helping me you decided to have yourself a lovely little blood slave. And now the whole situation has gone too far to be left alone… I hate to let things slide. So tell me, if he isn’t Odin, who is?”

“I don’t know.” Mitchell stared coldly at Ivan.

“Don’t lie to me, Mitchell.”

“It’s true.” _You’ll have to find that out for yourself_.

“Don’t make me hurt your precious little toy.”

“He is not my _toy_ ,” Mitchell hissed and a few drops of blood fell from his lips, “stop giving him all those ill-fitting titles.”

Again, Ivan had that peculiar look in his eyes that Mitchell wasn’t able to decode. Was it astonishment? Doubt? Hard to say.

Before Mitchell could dwell on that, however, Ivan took a step towards Anders.

“No!” the Irishman shouted as the vampire let himself sink down to meet Anders’ eyes.

Mitchell could see Anders swallowing hectically, fighting against his impulse to use Bragi. He leaned back to put more space between him and Ivan but apart from the vampire holding his hands in place there was Daisy by his shoulder. He was effectively trapped between the vampire couple.

“Ivan, come back here, you prick!”

Mitchell strained against his captors as strongly as he could. He tore at their grip, tried to elbow the woman once more or even bite his way out but to no avail. Arching his back Mitchell threw himself forward to break the vampires’ hold of him. Suddenly, there was no weight to strain against. The vampire holding his arms gave him more room, making him lose his balance. Before Mitchell hit the ground face first he managed to turn his torso and his right shoulder and chest crashed into the asphalt. Just as the Irishman tried to get up and somehow reach Anders, the second vampire pushed onto his back and shoulder with her entire weight in an attempt to keep him restrained. Sharp pain flashed through Mitchell’s right shoulder as it popped out of its joint.

The Irishman howled. Bile rose up in his throat as he tried to fight the white hot pain that continued to shoot through him. His captor let go of his right arm – it was useless now anyway, hanging limply at a slightly odd angle to his body. Mitchell was wheezing in strained attempts of regaining his breath. _Don’t pass out_. The initial pain slowly died down but to speak of a tolerable level was yet a big stretch. The woman behind him grabbed him by the collar and roughly placed him back to his knees, this time turning him to make sure he could see Anders and Ivan.

Ivan had witnessed the scene in a detached calm. No emotion flickered over his face at Mitchell’s guttural whimpering and his attempt to find a position for his arm that didn’t make him rigid in pain.

Then, without any sign of warning, Ivan hit Anders in the stomach. The god gasped and winced in pain but no word came over his lips. Mitchell watched in horror how Anders leaned forward, pale as death, trying to catch his breath with retching coughs.

“Ivan!” Mitchell roared, “Get the fuck away from him!”

“It’s up to you, Mitchell,” Ivan said as he exchanged a knowing look with Daisy.

It wasn’t worth it, Mitchell thought, eyes still fixed on his aching lover. He himself was pretty hard done by but he would heal. Vampires always did. But Anders’ body was only human after all – he couldn’t stand another one of Ivan’s punches without risking injury to his inner organs.

“It’s his brother, okay?” Mitchell snarled, putting all his pain and frustration into his words, “His brother is Odin.”

“Interesting,” Ivan grabbed Anders by his shoulder and pushed him up to his kneeling position again.

“We’ll pay him a visit next then,” Daisy said with sparkling eyes, clearly up for a hunt.

“Maybe we’ll take Anders here with us to make our argument more convincing,” Ivan added.

“A lovely little family reunion,” she stroked through Anders’ hair, “wouldn’t you like that, handsome?”

Anders just stared onwards, his face contorted by pain.

Ivan shrugged. “We get it over with and everyone can go back to their routine.”

Mitchell’s thoughts were racing, desperate to keep Ivan here and talking. He couldn’t lose Anders like that.

“It’s not that simple.”

Ivan laughed. “I think it is. Just because you became a traitor doesn’t make things complicated for the rest of us.”

“You’ll set off a disaster.”

“How so?”

Mitchell wasn’t sure if he had sparked actual curiosity in Ivan or if he was just in the mood to talk. Regardless, he took what he could get at this point.

He kept his voice as steady as possible. “If Odin is killed, all the other gods die, too. And there’s a prophecy that the world will end.”

“Oh Mitchell, enough with the tales.”

“It’s true. Don’t you remember? When we started out we came across this.”

“I guess I’ll take my chance,” Ivan said with a non-committal shrug.

“You’re afraid of them ruling but you’re not fazed by natural disaster?”

“Mitchell, if every story about the end of the world had been true we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I don’t believe in prophecies. I do, however, believe in corruption through power.”

“Ivan…” Mitchell implored him but got interrupted.

“Before we go, though, I like to ask you a question. The one that has been bothering me most. What made you change your mind? I remember you being quite motivated when I came to you and proposed the idea.”

“I was because I was looking for _distraction_. You know exactly how badly I needed a new objective. I didn’t care about your reasons. I wanted to hunt with you.”

“And yet you turned on me. Why?”

“It’s complicated.”

“It always is with you. Go on, I’ve got all night.”

“Does it make a difference now?” Mitchell asked, nodding to illustrate his position, “You’ve got me on my knees and you will tear the world apart regardless of what I say.”

“Oh Mitchell, don’t go all dramatic on me. Don’t you think I deserve an explanation why my protégée and former lover decides to work with the very people we were hunting?”

If Ivan wanted his side of the story he should have it – maybe there was a way to turn things around, to save Anders. It was a desperate hope, yes, but Mitchell’s mind was racing now. He only needed one idea, one chink in Ivan’s armour that he could attack. _Come on, you’ve known him for ages._ Ivan valued loyalty, success, freedom… but above all he valued was his connection to Daisy.

 _Already tried that. It didn’t work earlier_ , a nasty little voice in the back of his head spoke up. But that had been before Ivan had threatened Anders and made Mitchell nearly lose it…

Mitchell swallowed dryly. He needed more time.

“Look, Ivan, I didn’t want to turn on you,” he started, wracking his brain for a story to tell, “It wasn’t a conscious decision. After we attacked Anders and I drank his blood…. It was different. You thought it was poisonous for us and you were right: if you drink too much it knocks you right out but carefully dosed it’s… it’s so much better than anything I have ever tasted. I only had one hit but I was hooked. I didn’t want to tell you and so I tried to find a way to keep feeding from him and helping you.”

“Not exactly successful, I might add,” Ivan said smugly.

“No. It wasn’t. We struck a deal but it all got tangled up...” Mitchell’s words trailed off but suddenly, Ivan narrowed his eyes.

“What did?” he asked, listening attentively now.

 _Perhaps all that villain talk was more than just revenge. Perhaps he was trying to figure out what Anders really is to me_.

“It became… personal.” Mitchell waited to let the words sink in.

This was his only chance to get out of here – if Ivan understood what Mitchell was implying. The Irishman avoided looking at Anders. He shouldn’t have to hear about Mitchell’s deepest feelings in an alleyway, bruised and bleeding. Instead, he kept his eyes on Ivan.

“You know how it all correlates, Ivan. Remember how it was before Daisy? Just need, sex, feeding, violence… that was my routine yet again when you asked me to join you. It has never been like that with Anders.”

The older man didn’t use the pause in Mitchell’s speech to throw in another smug remark. Instead, he nodded ever so slightly.

“Just think back to that moment in the air raid shelter,” Mitchell went on, trying to draw on their past and code his words for Ivan, “You told me what happened, you told me how you felt. Ivan, it’s like that for me now.”

For a moment, no one said anything. The only sound that echoed in the alley was the steps of Daisy’s boots as she let go of Anders and came closer to Ivan.

“I know it’s all messed up and difficult. I know it probably shouldn’t be and that I’m putting myself in your way. Believe me, if I saw a possibility to make this less complicated I would act on it. But there is none, not for me. As much as you want to protect your own life with Daisy, I want to protect ours. And if you kill Odin, you kill him.”

Ivan hadn’t moved during Mitchell’s speech.

 _Say something._ Mitchell’s muscles were trembling, his dislocated shoulder throbbing in pain. Anders was surely in a similar state but Mitchell took it as a good sign that he didn’t hear any pained wheezing noises from him anymore. In fact, the eerie silence wasn’t interrupted by any sound while Mitchell’s words hung in the air between them.

Mitchell made a point of not looking at Anders. He didn’t want to know which emotions were visible on the god’s face, which bottom line he had drawn from his monologue. Mitchell would’ve preferred to discuss all this with Ivan privately but here they were. Ivan’s brown eyes fixed Mitchell’s but the Irishman’s attempt to read him were futile – his face betrayed nothing of his feelings. Daisy reached out to Ivan, wrapping her arms around his waist and he laid his arm around her shoulders.

Then, Ivan nodded.

“I see.”

Mitchell let out the breath he had been holding and slightly tilted his head in acknowledgement of Ivan’s words. _He understands_. They probably weren’t entirely safe just now – Mitchell was aware that Ivan was still more than pissed off about his betrayal. But that would remain a fight for them to fight without Anders as collateral damage.

Most of the tension left Mitchell’s body and he felt exhaustion catch up with him. His wounds were aching, reminding him to wrap things up quickly lest he’d pass out again.

“What do we do, Mitchell?” Ivan asked. All smugness had vanished from his voice; what remained was a sincere question in light of their strange new situation.

“I don’t know,” Mitchell mumbled. Their motives and aims were entirely different and mutually excluded each other. What was there to do?

A look at Anders showed Mitchell that he was equally exhausted, just shrugging and still adhering to Daisy’s order of keeping his mouth shut.

“What if I find Frigg?” Ivan proposed.

An absurd stirring grew in Mitchell’s stomach and he nearly laughed out. Finding Frigg instead of Odin. This solution was so ridiculously easy and yet they hadn’t discussed it in the beginning of their hunt.

“There’s an idea…” Mitchell said in a thick voice, trying to get his tired mind to think it through to the end. Off to his right Anders insistently shook his head.

“Anders doesn’t seem too happy about it,” Daisy remarked.

“It’s his life on the line,” Mitchell said, “If Odin dies without having found Frigg he takes his family with him.”

“Right,” Ivan said, “But it would make sense. Daisy and I leave Odin alone, may he have a long and happy life, and kill Frigg instead. You and Anders are happy because he doesn’t die, we are happy because the gods don’t have a chance to become almighty.”

Mitchell’s body felt painful and heavy now. If he could just lie down for a moment… _Focus_.

“I understand what you mean and in theory, you’re right,” Mitchell said slowly, “But I can’t decide that, Ivan. Anders is the representative of the gods, if you will. You have to talk to him.”

Ivan and Daisy exchanged a doubting look and Daisy stepped over to Anders. Mitchell grew tense instinctively but reminded himself to relax. Daisy wouldn’t do anything to the god. Anders stayed where he was, still pale as death but self-assured despite his battered state, prompting a sense of pride in the Irishman.

“Same rules as before,” she said in a sweet voice. “You use your power, you’re done for. Understood?”

“Yes,” Anders croaked, his voice breaking. He cleared his throat.

Ivan addressed him directly now. “So what do you think about my suggestion, Anders?”

“As Mitchell already told you, I’m Bragi, God of Poetry. Not Odin.”

The first words sounded stifled but soon became smoother. Anders looked Ivan square in the eye, showing confidence and respect. “There are rules, Ivan, and I cannot make such a decision by myself.”

“You are the only god here so I’m afraid you have to step up to the task. I’m building you a bridge, you do see that, don’t you?” It was not a direct threat but Ivan’s cool voice made his position more than clear.

“Yes and I am grateful for that,” Anders answered and Mitchell saw his PR training shine through. Even without Bragi Anders had secure negotiation skills and a feeling for confrontations of this sort.

“But still, this kind of thing calls for an official negotiation,” Anders went on, “You are an Old One, my brother is Odin. You two are the authorities on this situation. Your suggestion must be discussed among us gods and is then decided by Odin. You will meet him then and negotiate. I propose a meeting in two days.”

Ivan tilted his head as he considered Anders’ words. _Agree_ , Mitchell implored him silently. He knew what he had come here to find out so what were two days in the broader scope of things? The older vampire had them entirely at his mercy, regardless how long their talks took. _Come on, Ivan._

“Tomorrow,” Ivan said in a determined voice.

“Tomorrow,” Anders conceded, “Mitchell will tell you the place.”

“Alright.”

On a sign from Ivan, the three vampires let go of Anders and Mitchell and left the alley the same way they had come.

Daisy waved lazily at the two bruised men.

“I’ll see you heartthrobs around,” she said and followed the vampires, not before pressing a passionate kiss on Ivan’s lips.

Mitchell braced himself on his left arm, carefully cradling his dislocated right in front of his stomach. His body felt heavy, dead weight that he had to get used to carrying around on his own again now that he wasn’t held by foreign hands. He struggled to stand up; every move made his rib hurt like hell. Next to him, Anders was scrambling to his feet as well.

They nearly made it, Mitchell thought, not long and they’d be home and could look after their wounds. Anders stood almost upright so Mitchell had high hopes that the cuts on his cheek and lip as well as the strangulation marks were all he had to tend to – no squashed torso, no internal injuries.

Ivan watched their pitiful movements in silence. Then, he took a step towards Mitchell, drawing him in as if to hold a private conversation. Mitchell was struggling to stand up right and Ivan laid his hand on the Irishman’s undamaged left shoulder, giving him much needed balance.

“You know,” Ivan began in a serious tone, “I respect what you said earlier. I’d be lost without my Daisy. I know how important it is to have someone like her to deal with the life that we are living. I know what it means.”

“Thank you, Ivan,” Mitchell said between two aching breaths. He really needed to get home.

“But I’m still pretty angry about you turning on me.” Ivan’s voice gained an edge that the Irishman didn’t notice. He was fully occupied with remaining on his feet.

“I know,” Mitchell murmured, teeth gritted from the pain, “Won’t happen again.”

“No… it won’t.”

Before Mitchell had time to react, Ivan lifted his arm and delivered a right hook to the Irishman’s temple.

He blacked out before he even hit the floor.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mitchell is knocked out, Anders is bleeding and the Johnson brothers gather to realise how badly they have fucked up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit on the long side...h/c and angst takes up quite a bit of space.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it :)

Half an hour after Mike had called the family meeting at the bar they all arrived: Axl with an annoyed expression, Ty composed but nervously checking his phone and Olaf as his usual relaxed self. They were grouped around the counter once more, each of them a bottle of beer in front of them.

“Why are we here, Mike?” Axl asked after the first sip of his beer.

“We need to talk about Anders.” Mike looked around in earnest.

“Again?” Axl huffed, “I don’t feel like it. Where is he anyway? Screwing other people’s partners as we speak?”

Bottle in hand Olaf gestured towards Axl. “Technically it was neither Anders nor Gaia,” he said, “Bragi and Idunn are destined to…”

“Thanks, grandpa, I know,” Axl interrupted him sharply, “but that doesn’t change a thing. Not for me.”

Mike narrowed his eyes. “Axl, cut it out, for fuck’s sake,” he snapped, “We’ve got bigger problems than that right now.”

“Which doesn’t bother Anders, apparently,” Axl shot back, “Where is he?”

Ty shrugged with a worried glance at his phone as if a message might pop up just this moment. “I texted him a few times but he never replied.”

Olaf raised an eyebrow. “Would you after the stunt you guys pulled on him?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Ty replied in a raised voice.

The family oracle nodded gravely. “Exactly.”

“Grandpa, stop blaming us,” Ty hissed, “you were knocked out and didn’t act either.”

Axl put his bottle on the counter and a dull bang cut their argument short.

“Could we get on with this, please?” he asked and turned to the oldest brother. “Mike, what’s the matter?”

Three pairs of curious eyes fixed on him when he took a deep breath and answered, “Colin just called me. He told me that Anders is working with him.”

“What?” Axl asked incredulously, “Why would he do that? He hates Colin’s guts and vice versa.”

Mike nodded and added in a calm voice, “He also said that a vampire called Mitchell was with him.”

Silence filled the bar as Mike waited for his family to stomach these news.

Axl was the first one to react. “You gotta be joking.”

“Nope.” Mike shook his head.

Ty’s grip on his bottle tightened. “But I… I thought Mitchell wasn’t real…”

“That’s what we all thought,” Mike agreed, “but Colin was quite insistent that there were two men in his house.”

“Mhm,” was all Olaf said by way of reacting.

“Why would Colin tell you the truth?” Axl asked, “What if he lies?”

“He wasn’t lying,” Mike said, “at least not about the vampire. The way he reacted made clear that he thought I was stupid, not trying to make sure he’s telling the truth.”

“Shit,” Ty muttered.

“Yep.”

“So…” Olaf began slowly, “Anders felt rejected by us and turned to Colin as an alternative?”

Mike shrugged. “Looks like it. But I think the bigger problem is the vampire. Now we know that he is real I assume Anders wasn’t lying about their hunt for us either. And there’s his arrangement and the blood-drinking thing he told us about.”

“I’m hunted by vampires then?” Axl asked, trying to give his voice an edge of doubt, “We believe that?”

“All evidence points towards that, Axl,” Mike huffed disapprovingly and stared at the youngest Johnson, “It’s not unthinkable that someone wants to take out Odin, is it?”

Ty shook his head slowly, “And we just let him go…” Then he added with a determined look, “Mike, we need to get Anders out of the clutches of that freak.”

“This is why I called you here,” Mike answered seriously.

“What did Colin say they talked about?” Axl wanted to know.

“They asked him to get rid of the vampires that are after us.”

“And this Mitchell guy was on board with that?” Axl leaned forwards, hands placed on the counter.

Mike’s answer was a simple “Apparently.”

“What a fucked up dynamic is that?” Axl turned to the rest of his family as if they had the answers, “What does he want with Anders and why does he want his mates dead? At the hands of Colin, no less?”

Olaf shrugged. “I can’t tell you. That is quite curious.” He tilted his head. “One thing is sure, though: we need to get Anders out. That’s the least we can do. We owe him.”

“Where is he now?” Ty asked fervently, “Mike, you have to find him. Who knows what that fang freak is doing to him.”

“And we need to talk to Colin,” Axl added.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Mike disagreed, “Colin isn’t the worst problem right now and for once it seems that he is the one person who actually works in our favour right now.”

Ty nodded and stood up from the chair. “Besides, we won’t find out more if he doesn’t want us to. So let’s stick to finding Anders and helping him. Now.”

“Alright,” Axl put on his jacket, “Mike, you lead the way. Do your Ullr thing and find him.”

Ty’s phone buzzed and with a quick flick of his finger he answered the call.

“Really?” Axl asked, “you need to take that now?”

Ty only threw him an annoyed look and put the phone to his ear, “Hi! Sorry, I’m busy right now but…” Ty’s eyes grew wide as he listened intently, “What? Yes, of course.”

 

* * * * *

 

Anders scrambled to his feet. Every part of his body hurt, from the fight as well as from the kneeling. His throat still felt raw from his struggle against the gag but all of that wasn’t so important anymore. They had done it, Mitchell had done it. Somehow, they were still alive and kicking.

The henchmen were gone, as was Daisy and over to his left Mitchell and Ivan were talking to each other. Mitchell cradled his right in front of his bent body and leaned into Ivan’s supporting hand on his other shoulder. Maybe they discussed a meeting place for tomorrow or some more enigmatic past anecdotes that Anders couldn’t place. The god shivered and took a look at his bruised hands. His knuckles were bloody, skin torn and pulsating in an irritating rhythm. Hopefully his face didn’t look as bad as it felt. He threw a glance over to the two vampires, hoping that they would soon finish their talk – he and especially Mitchell needed to get home as soon as possible and patch themselves up. Just then, Ivan’s fist hit Mitchell’s temple and the Irishman collapsed.

“Mitchell!”

The scream had left Anders’ throat in a coarse whisper before he even knew it.

He rushed over to break Mitchell’s fall, his body not bothering about his injuries but just reacting to the scene in front of him. He saw Mitchell cave in but Anders was a split second too slow: the Irishman’s body hit the ground in a terribly dull sound.

“Mitchell…” Anders gasped and came to a halt. He dropped down on the ground and stared at his lover with wide eyes, hands hovering about his frame, unsure whether he could dare to touch him.

Ivan hadn’t moved an inch and looked at Anders. He tilted his head slightly, watching how the god grabbed Mitchell’s left hand.

“When he wakes up tell him that we’re even now,” Ivan delivered this final remark in a detached voice. Anders barely registered since his gaze was fixed on Mitchell. Only the sound of Ivan turning on his heels and leaving the alley in long strides made him look up for a second, making sure he wouldn’t come back.

Then, Anders crouched next to the Irishman.

“Mitchell,” he whispered. Mitchell laid spread out on the ground, eyes closed and his right arm was positioned in an odd angle to his body.

“Come on, wake up.” Anders cradled Mitchell’s head carefully. He looked awful. His left eye was swollen and the lower part of his face was coated in dried blood that had run from his nose. Nail marks had transformed his neck into a bloody mess and his right cheek was blooming in a reddish colour that would soon become purple. Mitchell’s hair was caked in sweat and blood, sticking to his head, and who knew which damage these vampiric thugs had done to his insides.

Anders got out a handkerchief out of his suit pocket and ran it softly over Mitchell’s face, trying to get rid of the worst mess. The gesture was one of quandary: it didn’t really make things better but keeping his hands busy helped Anders somewhat not to panic. What was he supposed to do? Calling an ambulance was not an option – it would only raise too many questions he didn’t know the answer to. But Anders also couldn’t carry Mitchell all the way to the apartment and the thought of taking the bus back home nearly made him laugh hysterically.

_Calm down. Focus. He’ll be fine but you have to do something._

There must be someone he could ask for help. Axl was out of the question, as was Mike. He didn’t even believe Mitchell was real, how should he agree to help him? Grandpa was probably stoned out of his mind. Ty could maybe come and pick them up but he was almost certainly out and about – it was barely 5pm and knowing his brother he’d make an hour of overtime if something urgent came up.

Mitchell still lay there, not moving a muscle.

_Dawn_.

Her apartment wasn’t too far from here, Anders remembered, and the way there didn’t involve any major roads. With a bit of luck he could carry Mitchell without attracting too much attention. Anders didn’t want to think about what he would do if Dawn was still at the office. Regardless, he had to get Mitchell somewhere safe, somewhere he could rest and get better.

A moan came from Mitchell’s lips and rang feebly in Anders’ ears as the brunet moved slightly.

“Mitchell?” Anders asked, interlacing their fingers. The gloves were torn and Anders rubbed his thumb gently over the rough fabric. “It’s alright, darling, they’re gone.”

“Anders…” Mitchell drawled and his eyes fluttered open.

“I’m here. It’s okay.” Anders’ voice sounded terribly small in his own ears.

The Irishman followed the whispered sounds and slowly focussed Anders. The dark green irises looked nearly black in his pale face.

“My right arm hurts,” he said through gritted teeth, looking at Anders with a helpless expression that startled the blond.

“I know, love, we’ll take care of that soon,” Anders tried to soothe Mitchell and keep his own stomach from tightening further, “Can you move?”

“Dunno…” Mitchell coughed and wetted his chapped, bloody lips.

“We’ll try together. I’ll help you.” Anders pushed a supporting hand into Mitchell’s back, careful not to put pressure on his ribs or his shoulder.

Slowly and in very deliberate moves the two men made Mitchell sit up to a soundtrack of pained winces. The Irishman was heaving in deep breaths, sweat glistening on his forehead.

“Give me a minute…” he panted.

“Take as much time as you need,” Anders replied. They were out of immediate danger and a part of him was relieved that Mitchell didn’t rush things lest he passed out again.

For a few moments he just sat on the ground, cradling his dislocated arm in front of his body. When his breathing came easy enough for him to speak he looked up at Anders. “Are you okay?”

“Only a few scratches,” the blond lied, “but it’d be best for us to get somewhere safe where we can get patched up.”

Something in him had snapped into survival mode and in his mind he mapped out the shortest way to Dawn’s apartment while Mitchell rested.

The Irishman nodded and somehow made it to his feet with Anders’ careful help. He supported Mitchell’s body as well as he could and together they tried to figure out a way to walk the distance: Mitchell slung his left arm around Anders’ shoulders and the god took hold of his hip.

“Can you walk like that?” Anders asked, noting with worry how a shiver ran through the brunet.

“Not far,” Mitchell admitted with an apologetic smile under his bloodstained face.

“I’ll get us to Dawn.” Something akin to confidence washed through Anders, “she lives close by.”

 

* * * * *

 

In small steps and with Anders carrying most of Mitchell’s weight they made their way through a maze of alleyways to Dawn’s apartment. Anders concentrated on assisting Mitchell without inflicting further pain on him – a task that thankfully took up nearly all his attention. As long as he had something to do he wouldn’t fall victim to the panic that grew in his stomach. Only Mitchell’s wheezing breaths were difficult to block out. Every pained grunt tore at the illusion of strength Anders had built up.

_He’ll be fine. He has to_. _One step at a time_.

Anders shortly considered using Bragi on Mitchell to keep him distracted from the pain with some sort of a story yet he couldn’t bring himself to do it after all.

Still, banning Bragi from his voice, Anders talked. About everything he could see and think of – pointing out certain buildings and stone patterns on the ground, telling Mitchell about his fish and how he had named them, about that one day back in August he had spent with Dawn at a racetrack because of a potential client and it had started to rain in buckets. Any story that would keep Mitchell – and himself – from despairing.

Finally they cut the last corner and Dawn’s apartment came into view. Her car was parked out front as Anders noticed, sparking the last of his energy to drag Mitchell over the street and into the entrance of the building.

“Here we are…,” Anders panted, “Well done. You’ll be good as new soon.”

_I hope._

Anders tried hard to not let his fear show. Then again, Mitchell was barely conscious anyway – a circumstance that made his stomach drop.

Anders rang the bell, still keeping his arm slung around Mitchell’s hip. The Irishman had closed his eyes and was leaning on the side wall, shivering slightly.

The door opened and upon seeing Dawn, Anders choked back a sob of relief.

“Dawn…”

“Anders? What…. Oh my god.”

Dawn’s alabaster skin became even paler at the sight of the two injured men in front of her. She stepped closer and asked with a quizzical look at Mitchell, “Mr Harrison?”

“Hey Dawn,” Mitchell drawled and tried a smile that failed miserably, “sorry about the mess…”

“What happened to you?” Shock still painted Dawn’s face as her gaze jumped back and forth between Mitchell and Anders.

“Dawn, we need help,” Anders said, his voice on the verge of breaking, “He’s badly injured and I... I didn’t know….”

“Bring him in,” Dawn interrupted him, a determined look replacing the initial shock, “follow me.”

She led the way, clearing away a flower pot and shoes in the hall and opened the door to her bedroom wide. Methodically she pulled the blanket off to the side of her bed and removed all pillows save for one. Anders followed, carefully guiding Mitchell through the apartment.

“You’ll be fine,” he whispered to Mitchell but talking to both of them, “Dawn knows what to do. She’ll help.”

“Put him on the mattress,” Dawn said and Anders obeyed, making Mitchell sit down. A broken whimper came out of the Irishman’s throat and the nails of his left hand dug into Anders’ palm.

“How hurt are you, Anders?” Dawn asked, looking at him with an assessing glance. All alarm had vanished from her demeanour – she was taking care of what needed doing, no matter her feelings on the situation.

“Not as bad as him. I’ll manage,” Anders said quickly. His body was hurting all over but looking at Mitchell’s face scrunching up in pain made his priorities immediately clear.

“Dawn, please, you have to make sure he’ll be fine,” Anders pleaded.

Dawn threw a second critical look at Anders’ state – apparently she arrived at the conclusion that Mitchell’s wounds were direr and Anders could hold out a bit longer. She nodded shortly, affirmative, and motioned him to let her handle it. Anders moved to Mitchell’s other side, not letting go of his hand. Dawn squatted in front of Mitchell on eye level.

“Mr Harrison,” she addressed the brunet, careful not to touch him or make the mattress move unnecessarily.

“Mitchell,” he slurred, keeping his eyes half-closed.

How helpless he looked, Anders thought. Seeing Mitchell sit on the bed, swaying slightly from side to side in an attempt to regain balance made Anders’ throat go tight. Now that Dawn was running the show and all responsibility was taken from his shoulders there was nothing left to do for Anders except wait.

“Mitchell, I’ll help you, okay?” Dawn said in a clear and strong voice, giving Mitchell something to hold on to.

“Yeah…” he murmured.

“His rib is cracked,” Anders offered, grasping a possibility to say something, _do_ something rather than just succumbing to panic, “And his right arm, Dawn, I think his shoulder is dislocated…”

“Shit,” Dawn muttered, carefully examining what she could see of Mitchell’s body under the layers of shirt and jacket. A dry sob grew in Anders’ throat, coming out as a quiet choking sound. What if Dawn couldn’t help him, what if…

“Listen, Mitchell,” Dawn said pointedly, “this will be painful but I need you to stay with me.”

“Will do,” Mitchell drawled.

With wide eyes Anders looked at Dawn. “What are you going to do?”

“Pop his shoulder back in, of course,” she said matter-of-factly and gently pushed Anders to the side, farther away from Mitchell.

“You know how to do that?” Anders asked nervously and stepped back to where he was before, trying to battle the fear in his stomach with words. If he just kept talking then maybe he wouldn’t have to think. “I didn’t know you had training in that sort of thing.”

“Anders, I need some space,” Dawn said gently but decidedly enough to make him stop babbling.

Anders dutifully retreated to the door and watched Dawn’s nimble fingers taking off Mitchell’s jacket, careful not to put too much pressure on the injured shoulder. A quiet grunt fell from Mitchell’s bloody lips as he turned his torso a bit to make it easier for her to unbutton his shirt.

“It’s alright, just stay like this, Mitchell,” she said soothingly, “I’ll work around you.”

“Okay,” he rasped, eyes firmly closed.

“What can I do?” Anders asked in a pressed voice, his eyes never leaving Mitchell. His chest was once more heaving in pained breaths, adding to the god’s worry. It was showing in his hands when Anders absently-minded rubbed over the back of his right only to twitch when he touched his bloody knuckles.

“Nothing, Anders,” Dawn said resolutely.

“But…”

“I mean it. I’ve got Mitchell, don’t worry about that now.”

In a softer voice, Dawn added, “If you want to help go and take care of yourself because frankly, you don’t look too good either. Have a shower, clean your face carefully. Got it?”

Anders nodded, threw a last look at Mitchell, all groggy, and adhered to Dawn’s words. She was right. Dawn was always right, Anders thought as he left the bedroom, he couldn’t do anything for Mitchell right now. He had done what he could, bringing him here. She would take care of the rest which Anders was thankful for.

In a distracted motion Anders fixed himself a glass of water when he heard Dawn’s voice getting through to the living room. A faint murmur only but if Mitchell cried out when his shoulder was popped back in, Anders would surely hear it – and that wasn’t a sound he wanted to experience. The thought alone made his stomach churn and with shaking hands he put down the glass. It would take him long enough to get the picture of his bloody and bruised lover out of his mind anyway and Anders wasn’t sure he could cope with further pained sounds.

Remembering Dawn’s words he stepped through the door into the bathroom. Another room between them, that and the sound of the shower should drown out every noise and maybe even his thoughts.

Anders’ own face staring back at him from the mirror nearly made him jump. His left cheek was about as bloody as Mitchell’s and his lower lip was marked up by a deep cut. The strangulation marks on his throat were defined and crawled out of his torn shirt. But as bad as it looked and as painful as it felt, Anders had been lucky.

He peeled the remains of his clothes off his body, careful in case he found more wounds that he hadn’t acknowledged yet. The attacker had focussed on his throat and Bragi’s voice mostly so his torso was largely unharmed. It felt sore, sure, but no open wound greeted him when he took off his shirt. Ivan’s punch would leave a nasty bruise, though – that man had quite the mean right fist.

_You need to call Mike. Soon._ The recollection of Ivan’s punch reminded Anders that time was ticking and before long the vampire would stand back in front of him, demanding a decision… Anders squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.

He turned on the shower, thankful for the possibility to regulate the water pressure, and stood under the softly sprinkling water, motionless. The warmth that slowly seeped through him had a relaxing effect and for a moment, his pain and the worry about Mitchell dimmed down to a tolerable level. They were safe for now and Dawn would know what to do to get Mitchell back on track. And then, they would deal with the Johnsons and Ivan.

When he stepped out of the shower, wounds carefully cleaned, he heard a knock on the door.

“Anders?” Dawn asked, “I found some clothes for you, I’ll put them on the cupboard outside. When you’re dressed join me in the living room.”

“Thanks, Dawn,” he said and fastened the towel around his waist.

That could only mean that Dawn was done patching up Mitchell. Nervous energy flushed through Anders once more and he quickly put on the sweatpants and the T-shirt. He rushed out of the bathroom, heading for Mitchell the bedroom.

“Anders, no, hang on,” Dawn jumped up from the sofa on which she had laid out an impressive collection of first-aid utensils. “He’s sleeping.”

Anders didn’t pay any mind to her and looked through the door. Mitchell was indeed lying in Dawn’s bed, his naked torso patched up, sleeping soundly. He looked battered but at least he had a break from the pain; a thought that comforted Anders for the time being. Before he could step inside the room, however, Dawn stopped him gently.

“Let me look at your injuries first.”

Reluctantly, he nodded and tore his gaze away from his lover.

“How is he?” Anders asked as he followed Dawn back to the couch where he sat down opposite her.

“Well, the shoulder is back where it should be…” Dawn said and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Only now did Anders notice that her posture was still collected but that a nervous jitter accompanied her voice.

She gave him a grave look. “But Mitchell’s badly hurt, Anders, we need to get him to hospital.”

“We can’t.”

Anders didn’t even know how Mitchell’s body worked, what with being technically dead and all, and he sure as hell didn’t want to expose him like that. Besides, didn’t vampires heal faster than humans? Anders tried to remember whether Mitchell had mentioned something like that.

“What if he’s got internal injuries?” Dawn insisted.

“He doesn’t. He would’ve died on me on the way here if he had and besides, the worst part was his face, the rib and the shoulder…” Anders’ voice trailed off. No, he couldn’t make Mitchell go to hospital just like that.

“Give him a few hours, Dawn, okay? He is so exhausted, look at him. Do you really want to put him through a drive and all the administrative shit?”

Maybe drinking his blood again would help, Anders thought. Mitchell always looked so much better afterwards. Of course it was a drug, yes, but there was also strength to be gained from it, right? Vampires fed to survive, as far as Anders understood it… only the god essence in his blood was the kick. Damn, they really should’ve talked about the basics.

“I don’t know…” Dawn hesitated with a flickering look at the bedroom door.

“Please, Dawnsie,” Anders said and couldn’t help but be touched by the compassion she showed towards a man she had only met once, “Let him sleep a while.”

Dawn sighed. “Okay. But we’ll keep a close eye on him.”

That should buy him enough time to let Mitchell feed from him, Anders thought as Dawn rummaged through her first-aid kit.

“Why didn’t you call an ambulance in the first place?” she asked as she got out a tube and plasters.

Anders shrugged sheepishly. “I panicked and your apartment was the closest…”

“What happened?” Dawn asked as she carefully applied the ointment on Anders’ cheek and his lip.

“We got… mugged.” The thought of the ambush – because that’s what it had felt like – made Anders shiver.

“Mugged,” Dawn repeated, clearly not believing him. Tiny plasters followed the cream and patched up the mess that was Anders’ cheek.

“Yeah…” he mumbled. What else was he supposed to tell her?

“That doesn’t look like a mugging.” Dawn hesitated, “Is Mitchell involved in something… criminal? Is that why you didn’t take him to hospital, you’re worried that someone would find him and finish the job?

“Dawn….” Anders pressed his lips together.

“Did he make you join him?” Dawn implored him, clearly worried.

“I… I’m really sorry I dragged you into this, Dawnsie. I’ll tell you everything soon, okay, but right now I can’t…”

Anders’ words were lost in his throat as he choked up suddenly. The whole story was just too much, how would they ever get out of this? Mitchell was knocked out, Anders himself was as good as useless when it came to vampires and this time tomorrow he was expected to have solved their situation somehow… His eyes felt hot with tears that wouldn’t fall and he clenched his jaw.

“Shh, it’s okay.” Dawn ran her hand over Anders’ am in a soothing gesture. “It’s fine, we’ll talk later.”

Anders nodded, looking at his hands. “Will he be okay?”

“Yes.” Dawn’s answer was quiet but convinced.

“He has to… he can’t… just leave me,” Anders murmured.

”Would you like to lie down?” Dawn offered, lightly squeezing Anders’ arm, “I have another duvet and the couch is comfy…”

Anders shook his head and stood up, trying to regain composure. “I’ll go and look after Mitchell.”

Before he disappeared from Dawn’s view and into the bedroom, he turned around to her.

“Dawn? Thank you so much.”

 

* * * * *

 

Anders quietly opened the bedroom door, careful not to wake Mitchell. Dawn had drawn the blinds so that only the last bit of the fading afternoon light illuminated the room. Mitchell lay on the side of the bed bare-chested, eyes closed and lips slightly parted. The blanket was pulled up to his waist and most of what Anders could see of his torso was covered in gauze. His skin looked even paler than usual, especially when contrasted with the warm pastel colours of Dawn’s sheets. But Mitchell’s chest was moving in even breaths and while he looked exhausted, his face wasn’t distorted with pain anymore. The blood on his face was largely washed off and Dawn had successfully popped his shoulder back in. An ice pack rested on it.

In quiet steps Anders walked around the bed and lay down on Mitchell’s left side, sliding under the blanket. He scooted as close to the Irishman as he could without actually touching him – the hits he had to take had been numerous and Anders feared he would inflict more pain on him. He leaned his head into the crook of Mitchell’s neck, letting the curls tickle his face. Under the chemicals of anti-disinfectant and ointment Anders smelled Mitchell’s earthy scent. The familiarity of it wrapped itself around Anders like a second blanket and he shivered at the memory of Mitchell hanging between the two vampires, knocked-out and bleeding… Anders swallowed heavily. But it was over for now, he reminded himself, pushing away all thoughts of the fight and the immediate future.

Mitchell stirred and turned his head towards. Slowly, he opened his eyes and smiled at Anders who pressed a soft kiss on his uninjured shoulder.

“Hey…” The Irishman’s voice didn’t carry beyond a whisper.

“Hey, fearless warrior,” Anders smiled and looked into the comforting dark green eyes.

Mitchell chuckled slightly at his words, a rumbling sound that was cut short by a hiss. He crunched up his face in pain.

“Easy on the jokes,” he drawled, “at least for tonight.”

“Sorry.”

Mitchell lifted his hand, the scratches from his fall shining brightly with the ointment Dawn had applied. He stroked through Anders’ beard, avoiding the plasters on his cheek. The blond slightly turned into the touch.

“Your gloves didn’t make it, then?” Anders asked with a nod to the bedside table on which the stained remains lay.

“Not really,” Mitchell answered sleepily, “All torn and bloody. Dawn peeled every scrap of wool from my palms. I felt like a kid after a bike accident again...”

His eyes were heavy-lidded, speaking of exhaustion and pain, but still he looked at Anders in worry.

“How are you feeling?”

Mitchell’s fingertips ran over the strangulation marks on Anders’ throat, light like air.

“I’m okay,” the god grasped Mitchell’s fingers, brought them to his lips and kissed them in a gentle caress, “it looks ugly but it’s nothing too serious. Dawn patched us both up pretty neatly.”

“She’s a saint,” Mitchell said with a warm expression in his eyes.

“She really is.”

Through the door Anders heard the faint sound of a kettle. Dawn must be fixing herself a well-deserved cup of tea and it hit Anders how brave and effortlessly she had handled the situation. Mitchell was right: Dawn was nothing short of wonderful.

“Anders, I’m so sorry,” Mitchell’s whisper drew the blond’s attention back to him, “I should’ve reacted sooner, gotten you out…”

“Don’t apologise,” Anders hastened to say, “We’re not going down that road, okay? I’m fine. There’s nothing more you could’ve done.”

The Irishman looked at him, doubt still showing. “It’s me who got us into this chaos in the first place.”

“Mitchell… don’t. We can trace back the cause for all this for centuries if we wanted. There is nothing to apologise for.”

Mitchell reluctantly nodded, accepting Anders’ answer. He looked far too exhausted to discuss much even though the god could tell that guilt was eating away at Mitchell. To lighten the mood Anders added, “Not to brag but I got a good few punches in.”

This drew a smile from Mitchell’s lips. “Glad to hear it. You’re the fearless warrior between the both of us.”

After a small pause he asked, “What happened? There was a second attacker after you, wasn’t there?”

“Yes…” Anders said and his face grew tense, “I managed to fight the first one off. No idea how, I just reacted. I used Bragi on him, told him to let go of me and piss off. While I was talking to him the second guy must’ve appeared from somewhere behind us. I didn’t see him. I wanted to help you but then he attacked me. He went for my throat… or voice, rather… choked me… I punched and kicked as well as I could but he was stronger and before I knew it I was kneeling next to you.”

Instead of answering verbally, Mitchell rested his head against Anders’ neck and placed a gentle kiss on his skin.

Carefully, Anders carded his hand through the mess of curls. “Ivan said you’re even now.”

“Well, that’s something.”

For a while they both didn’t speak but simply enjoyed the other’s presence. Mitchell closed his eyes again and Anders’ listened to his even breaths that only stumbled from time to time.

“Are you in a lot of pain?” the god asked.

Mitchell’s eyes opened and Anders thought he saw a cheeky twinkle in them despite the fatigue.

“Well,” the Irishman murmured, “let’s just say I can’t fuck you into next week like I had intended… you know, before we left the apartment.”

Anders chuckled. “It’s a shame but I’ll live.”

Mitchell gave him an affectionate smile. “Don’t worry. Vampires heal quicker than humans anyway and it’s a good thing that I fed yesterday. Makes it go faster.”

So it was true, Anders thought, his assumption had been right. Blood. It always came down to it.

“Doesn’t make it any less painful, though,” Mitchell went on, “but Dawn gave me painkillers and they’re kicking in. Everything’s sort of pulsating and I’m just tired…”

“Mitchell, listen,” Anders said hesitantly as he tried to think of a possibility to present his idea.

“Hm?” Mitchell murmured into the god’s neck.

“Next thing I say I don’t want any protest from you, okay?”

“Sounds dramatic. Can’t promise that.”

Anders took a breath and simply said, “Drink from me.”

Mitchell stirred and stared at Anders as if he had gone mad in the last second. He opened his mouth but before he could say anything Anders added, “Hear me out. I want you to drink from me to get better. It’s not for you to get a kick out of it or for me to get off on. Just blood, just to nurse you back.”

The sleepy expression on Mitchell’s face had given way to a defiant look. “I’ll heal without it.”

“Yes, but it will take longer. A lot longer, considering what you had to take. And we don’t exactly have time in abundance.”

Anders cringed at his own words, thinking how unfair it was to put pressure on Mitchell. But there was nothing to be done about it – their time for healing was very limited.

Wetting his lips and slightly shaking his head Mitchell said, “Don’t you think you’ve bled enough today? You’re not exactly strong as a bull either.”

“True but if you only take a bit it will help you a great deal more than it hurts me.”

Mitchell’s gaze was fixed on Anders’ face as he assessed him closely. Then, he sighed and leaned back onto the pillow, looking at the ceiling.

“You can’t give me the stuff, Anders. I’m just starting to manage without it.”

“But there is no other blood I can offer you,” Anders said and desperation crept into his voice. “I won’t let you have enough to get a high. Consider it cutting down instead of going cold turkey. Please.”

“What about Dawn?” Mitchell asked, still staring at the ceiling.

“She won’t notice, I promise. She’s in the kitchen, fixing herself a cup of tea and trying to calm down…”

Anders paused and took in Mitchell’s clenched jaw and his pale, sickly skin with worry.

“Just to get your strength back,” he reiterated.

Mitchell turned to Anders again, looking at him earnest. The god could clearly see the fight Mitchell was having with his conscience – it flickered over his expression. But that meant that he was considering the offer, if reluctantly.

Thinking of all that feeding meant to him Anders added quietly, “I’ll close my eyes if you don’t want to see yourself.”

Mitchell’s lips parted in an attempt to say something but he only drew in a stunned breath. Then, he nodded slightly.

Anders closed his eyes and offered up his left wrist. For a moment, he felt like a fool – Mitchell didn’t make a move and just as he was tempted to open his eyes again he heard the blanket rustle. A small gasp reached his ear as the brunet sat up and a moment later, Mitchell’s lips touched his ever so carefully. A chaste kiss, a mere grazing of his split lip.

“I won’t hurt you,” Mitchell murmured against his skin.

“I know.” Anders nodded, keeping his eyes closed. He could still feel the kiss as if it lingered softly on his lips and warmth spread through Anders, his stomach fluttering.

Mitchell took Anders’ left with a gentle motion, lifting it up to his mouth and for the first time in a long time the impending feeding didn’t arouse Anders or scare him, like it had in the beginning. The same careful kiss that Mitchell had given Anders’ lips was now placed on the inside of his wrist. When a warm, wet tongue softly licked over his skin the blond shivered pleasantly. Briefly he thought about opening his eyes and watching Mitchell. He had never actually seen the vampire bite him. It had always been incorporated in fucking, never an act in itself. As much as he enjoyed sex with Mitchell without the feeding he was curious what feeding without sex would look like. Yet, Anders discarded the idea immediately. He had promised to spare Mitchell the sight of himself in his eyes and so be it. His other senses would paint him a picture just as accurate.

He could hear the rustling of the blanket as Mitchell adjusted his position once more and changed the angle of Anders’ arm just a bit. The searching tongue pressed gently against Anders’ vein, just hard enough to make the pulse beat against it. Mitchell’s cool lips tickled on his warm skin and his even breath washed over the offered wrist.

This was an act of emotional intimacy, not of sexual desire. It was stripped down to the very concept – Mitchell drinking from him to regain his strength – and adorned with the feeling of security and adoration.

The grip on Anders’ wrist became a bit tighter, firm but not uncomfortable, making sure it stayed in place. Mitchell’s right found Anders’ stretched-out fingers of the presented hand and grasped them lightly. Then, without warning, Anders felt a pointed sting on his skin. Surprised, he drew in a sharp breath but by the time it left his lungs again the pain had already subsided. Mitchell was sucking at his skin, the chilly lips contrasting his warm mouth. In his mind’s eye Anders imagined full lips closed over his wrist, black irises piercing his gaze and the golden ring in them drawing him in. Not a monster, not a kink or a fuck buddy – nothing so simplistic as that even began to cover what Mitchell was, and what Mitchell was _to him_.

The faint smell of blood mixed with Mitchell’s scent as the vampire drank from Anders. There was nothing driven about this feeding and even though the god couldn’t see him he felt how careful Mitchell proceeded. He took in slow, deliberate swallows and cautiously kept them shallow. With every other move his stubble scratched over Anders’ arm, completing the picture growing in his mind. Once, twice, a third time he sucked before his mouth left the skin. A muffled sigh reached Anders’ ear and just as he wanted to open his eyes Mitchell’s lips returned to the wound, pressing a cool kiss on it. The Irishman gently held Anders’ fingers and as he leaned back into his pillow he pulled the blond with him. Keeping his eyes closed, he carefully followed. Mitchell let go of his hand in favour of pulling the blanket up to their chests and Anders felt him cuddle closer.

“Open your eyes, Anders,” he whispered and the blond felt soft fingers card through his beard.

Neither fangs nor black eyes greeted him when he did as he was told. A few inches from his face he saw Mitchell, not the vampire, who gave him a sleepy smile.

“Thank you.”

Anders simply nodded in acknowledgement, his tongue tied in a way that not even Bragi could undo.

 

* * * * *

 

Dawn leaned over the sink and lathered her hands in quick and efficient strokes, watching the slightly red water wash down the drain. That this was Anders’ blood was a fact she tried to push as far from her mind as possible. She grabbed a towel, put on the kettle and gathered her first aid utensils from the living room. She hadn’t used them in her own household – all that she had to patch up so far had been a tiny cut from chopping onions and definitely not two bleeding men, one of whom was her boss.

The kettle gave an affirmative ping and Dawn returned to her kitchen. With shaking hands she poured the boiling water over the teabag in her mug, carried it over to the table and sat down. She wrapped her hands around the mug and listened for a moment. No sound came from the bedroom in which Anders had disappeared after their talk.

A mugging. That sure as hell hadn’t been a mugging and while Dawn understood that Anders was too shaken up about whatever had happened, she worried. Shouldn’t she do something else like call the police? Maybe they could get the guy who did this to Anders and Mr Harri- Mitchell. And what about Mitchell in general, why was he with Anders and why hadn’t Anders been at the office and… what was he, a criminal, a victim, maybe both? Dawn’s thoughts were racing but she had no answer to any of the questions that bothered her.

She took a sip from her tea and tried to calm down. The worst was behind her and there was no rush to take the next step, whatever that would be. Mitchell was alright for now, as was Anders and considering the circumstances this was all that mattered.

Something must connect the two men, Dawn thought as she recalled how desperate and downright scared Anders had been that Mitchell wouldn’t recover. She had never seen her boss like that, none of his many hook-ups ever elicited more than a cocky smirk and a lewd detail from him. Maybe Mitchell was another Johnson brother she hadn’t met yet. But then again, Anders usually had quite a rough tone around his family. With Mitchell, he hadn’t even bothered about the blood that had landed on his clothes and hands and that was saying something. Dawn faintly remembered his disgusted face when she had cut her finger on a file once. No, Mitchell must be special, a close friend. Except Anders didn’t have any friends or at least none that Dawn had ever heard of. So that left what, his lover, his partner? Dawn tilted her head. It was possible – no, it was even probable. Anyone would be shaken up about a fight in an alley but to that extend and with disregard for his own safety? Also, Anders hadn’t taken the offered couch and had barely left Mitchell’s side. As uncharacteristically it sounded for Anders to have a partner Dawn was nearly sure now since all the other possibilities just didn’t sit right. Despite the situation, a small smile danced around her lips.

Still, she had to figure out what to do with the two once they had recovered a bit. His family sure didn’t know what had happened and Dawn remembered how worried Ty had been the other day after their mysterious family falling out. He deserved to know that his brother was injured but at least alive and kicking. Besides, Dawn could use some support as well. She grabbed her phone, selected Ty’s number.

“Hi Ty, it’s me, Dawn.” She paused for a moment, thinking about how to break this kind of news.

“You’ll want to know this. Listen…” Dawn took a deep breath. “Anders is at my place, together with a man called Mitchell. They are both injured from some sort of a mugging or a fight or… don’t worry, I’ve taken care of them. Could you come around? Yes, they are fine. I’m fine, too, thanks for asking. Just a little shaken. Okay. See you then. Hurry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dawnsomeness. It's a thing.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders and Mitchell are patched up for now. Next up: dealing with the Johnsons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Muse-wise I had a bit of a difficult time so special thanks to my ConsultingFili who helped me figure out the brother feels!

After the feeding Mitchell had fallen asleep instantly. Anders stayed next to him, feeling a little tired from the blood loss but still captured in the intimate moment they had shared. Not only had the feeding been solely about the blood and not about pleasure – that part had worked surprisingly well. No, there had been something more that had touched Bragi and Anders alike. Anxious that any attempt of putting it into words would destroy the tiny bubble of safety they had created Anders leaned back into the pillows.

Looking at Mitchell’s bruised face Anders hoped that the blood would really help heal him quickly. Part of him wondered whether he could actually see the wounds close. A ridiculous thought, he knew that. This wasn’t X-Men and Mitchell wasn’t Wolverine but on some level he wished to see an immediate effect. Something to assure him that Mitchell would be okay, some tangible proof that the blood was doing its job. It looked like he had to take Mitchell’s deep sleep and relaxed breathing for now and if Anders was honest, this was a damn good start. Not everything between them had to take on a supernatural quality.

Anders closed his eyes and lightly stroked over Mitchell’s hand. Time was scarce but half an hour of sleep would do wonders – especially keeping in mind that he yet had to face his family.

But no such luck. His brain was working overtime, alternately showing him memories of the attack and trying to push the impressions as far away as possible. With every run of this circle the events seemed to fade, almost as if they had happened to someone else – because how would it be possible that he, Anders, had been part of a street fight and not wound up dead? But then the roughness in and around his throat, his burning lip and the delicate flesh on his cheek proved the contrary. And Mitchell… Anders sighed inwardly.

There was no way he would sleep anytime soon.

Anders pressed a light kiss on Mitchell’s forehead, got to his feet and walked into the kitchen to check on Dawn.

“Hey…” Dawn said quietly when he entered the room.

“Hi,” he answered and took a close look at her. She had changed her clothes, no blood staining her dress anymore. Her skin was still paler than usual, her eyes speaking of stress yet she looked kindly at Anders. Somehow, she held up well even now.

“Dawn…” Anders sighed, “You did everything for us and I still haven’t asked you how you are coping. Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she said, a hint of surprise in her tone at her boss’ sudden concern, “thank you for asking. I had a minor freak-out after you went to look after Mitchell but nothing a cup of tea couldn’t handle.”

She smiled, her warmth overriding the tiredness. Then, she pointed to the kitchen table.

“And before I think further on what has happened and maybe need to lie down I figured I keep busy and fix you something to eat. You know, since my bed is occupied by a direr case.”

Anders followed her gesture and nearly choked up at the sight: a plate of sandwiches was placed on the table, neatly arranged alongside two mugs, a thermo and napkins with flower patterns on them. It seemed… normal and at the same time like the strangest display he had ever seen. The arrangement talked of care and optimism, tugging at Anders’ heart.

“I thought you’d sleep a while so I put your coffee in a thermo,” Dawn added.

“That’s… wow, cheers,” he said a little sheepishly and sat down on one of the wooden chairs.

“I can’t sleep,” he went on after a moment of hesitation, “I’m tired but I can’t. Mitchell’s out, though.”

“Good,” Dawn said relieved, “He’ll be fine.”

“I know,” Anders whispered and distractedly rubbed over the marks on his left arm, now hidden by the long sleeves of the shirt.

“As will you, in time,” she added in a soothing tone.

“Dawn, I…” Anders hesitated. Which words were right to acknowledge this kind of thoughtfulness? He had put Dawn in a more than uncomfortable situation and she repaid him and Mitchell with help and care, no questions asked.

“I know coming here was unfair,” he started anew.

Maybe he shouldn’t go for “thanks” but rather “sorry”. Both sentiments were the right choice, Anders thought, equally adequate and necessary and not even beginning to cover what he actually wanted to express. Bragi whispered in his ear but this was something he had to phrase by himself.

“I just wanted to tell you that…” Why was this so hard? “Mitchell and I, we’re…”

Before he could stumble on, however, Dawn gave him a small smile and nodded slightly.

“It’s fine. You don’t need to tell me anything if you don’t feel comfortable. There’ll be a time and place for that. The important thing is to get you and… and Mitchell back on track.”

She sat down opposite Anders and pushed the plate towards him. “Maybe you’ll feel better with something in your stomach.”

Anders picked up a sandwich from the plate, more out of courtesy than actual hunger. Feeling “better” was a concept he couldn’t grasp right now – all there was felt a lot like exhaustion and restlessness. What he could do had been done and all that was left to do loomed over him.

He took a bite and as soon as the food hit his taste buds he could feel his body cry out in need. Mitchell’s feeding, however gentle and restrained, had taken its toll. A refill was more than necessary and so Anders munched away at the sandwich, much to Dawn’s delight, and finished another one before leaning back in his chair.

For a moment, they both simply sat there in silence. Anders poured a cup from the thermo, took a sip from the still steaming liquid and looked at Dawn in surprise when he tasted it.

“Not just coffee, then.”

“I figured you could do with a dash of something stronger,” Dawn shrugged.

“True.”

“Listen, Anders, I need to tell you something,” Dawn began, “Don’t be mad but I called Ty. I told him that you and Mitchell are here and he’ll arrive any minute. He was with Mike, Axl and Olaf so I suspect that they’ll tag along as well.”

The words sank into Anders’ brain but he could barely muster the energy to say something against it. All his energy was used up in trying to focus and keeping his thoughts away from Mitchell’s bruised body in the next room.

“Okay…” he mumbled and turned the mug in his hands.

The faster they met the more time they had to come up with a plan – rationally Anders knew that Dawn had done him a favour in sparing him from calling and moving things along on her own accord. But it also meant that the ridiculously short recovery period was over.

A little shiver ran through Anders as he realised how little time there was to begin with. He would give nearly anything to have this over with already, to go to bed with Mitchell and sleep for a year, never mind deals and vampires and gods.

“They might be angry with me,” Anders said quietly, “we didn’t exactly part on the best of terms when we last saw each other.”

 _Fingers crossed that Mike doesn’t bring up the supposed delusions again_. Even with Mitchell in the bedroom as proof (for a circumstance he shouldn’t have to prove, Anders added stubbornly) the last thing he needed was another instalment of _that_ conversation. He didn’t want to hear Mike’s opinions, his justifications and probably not even his apologies should he go that far. But there was no way around it: Anders had to talk about Mitchell. Dawn had told them he was here and his family needed to know about their run-in with Ivan.

It was probably best that Mitchell wouldn’t join their crisis summit for now, come to think of it. He remembered too well how furious Mitchell still was at Mike for making him believe those lies for a split second. Anders couldn’t cope with both of them and even Dawn might have her problems in separating an angry vampire and a pissed-off god of the hunt.

“Don’t worry about that,” Dawn said and Anders wasn’t sure she hadn’t read his mind, “I’ll keep them in check and I’m sure they’ll be glad to see you up.”

“Hopefully,” Anders murmured, unconvinced.

Difficult as it was, Anders tried to keep anything connected to Mike’s accusations at bay. There was no possibility to anticipate Mike’s mood and the way things looked he couldn’t afford to let his doubts infiltrate the upcoming meeting – their personal issues weren’t the reason they had to meet and even his thick-headed brothers couldn’t deny that appeasing Ivan was the priority here. If Mike was relaxed enough to properly talk to then maybe they could just move past it for now. Start with the status quo that Mitchell was present and take it from there.

 

* * * * *

 

The door bell rang, cutting loudly through Anders’ thoughts. He put down the mug and just about stopped himself from rubbing through his face and over his plasters. _Here it goes_.

“Unless you ordered pizza that’ll be my family,” he said in a feeble attempt at lightening the mood. Well, his own mood, that was. The lopsided smile didn’t feel right either so Anders gave up on it. Dawn could see right through it anyway. With a little sigh he moved to get up.

“Stay here,” Dawn said and squeezed his shoulder lightly as she passed him, “I’ll get the door.”

Anders nodded and watched her rush out of the kitchen, through the living room and down the small corridor. Then, he got up and entered the living room. The kitchen was too small to accommodate them if his whole family showed up and that way Anders had an eye on the door behind which Mitchell slept.

He sat down on the couch, waiting for his family to enter the room and fiddling with a cushion to calm his nerves. Maybe sitting down wasn’t a smart move. No need to make himself smaller than he was and so, on second thought, he got up again and placed himself in front of the bedroom door. _Just a precaution_. There were still a few feet behind him so that his protective stance didn’t appear too obvious. He didn’t want to be the one to make the meeting escalate but standing in front of Mitchell’s door reminded him of the very real possibility that it might. To his mind this meeting was quite the free for all. But Mitchell deserved a bit of peace and quiet, and Anders checked that he was close enough to the door to act if necessary. One part of his mind wondered when he had become a tactician in physicality rather than words but the chorus of his family’s voices travelling through the flat drowned out the thought.

The first to come through to the living room was Olaf. He moved his tall figure with the well-known shuffle and his face lit up when he spotted Anders.

“There he is,” Olaf said, opening his arms to pull Anders into a hug.

Without thinking about it Anders took a step back, evading the familiarity, only to cringe at his gut-reaction. This was the first friendly thing to come from his family in a while and he all but destroyed it in a heartbeat.

Olaf stopped in his track and lifted his arms in a peaceful gesture as Anders threw him an apologetic glance.

“Take your time,” the oracle said, smiling at him warmly.

Anders nodded, relieved that Olaf hadn’t taken offense. At least one Johnson meant well by him.

Next up was Axl who placed himself behind an arm chair, as far away from Anders as possible in the small-ish living room. A short nod acknowledged his older brother’s presence from across the room and Anders saw a flicker of worry dance over his face as Axl leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

Following him was Mike, striding through the door and walking past Olaf and Axl. Anders tensed the closer Mike came. _Calm down_. Mike didn’t know where Mitchell was and possibly wasn’t that interested in him anyway – after all he was the one to proclaim him an illusion. Still Anders adjusted his position in front of the bedroom door to Mike’s movements.

“Anders, are you alright?“ Mike asked and stopped a few steps in front of Anders. His eyebrows were drawn together as he assessed his brother critically. His eyes jumped from Anders’ cheek to his lips to his throat where the strangulation marks crawled out of the shirt’s neckline.

Anders suddenly felt exposed under Mike’s gaze. Whereas Dawn had looked upon his injuries in assessment as well there had been compassion but with Mike… irrational as it may be Anders had to fight the urge to cover his wounds lest Mike saw his weakness. If his older brother was truly worried it didn’t show and exactly this kind of realist evaluation, devoid of emotion, reanimated Anders’ anger.

“Does it _look_ like I’m alright?” Anders snapped at Mike by way of defending himself.

“No, it doesn’t,” Mike shot back with the earnest expression in his eyes reserved for his brother’s fuck-ups. Then he added in a darker voice, “Where is he?”

So much for his disinterest in Mitchell. Anders clenched his jaw and stared at Mike in defiance. “I don’t know who you mean.”

“Come on, Anders,” Mike said with an undertone he surely considered authoritative, “we’re here to save you.”

“Save me?” Anders’ voice hitched, “From what?”

That was fucking rich. After everything that had happened Mike had the audacity to play saviour? What a noble role after effectively helping to shape the chaos they were in. Anders didn’t _need_ saving, not by his brothers and definitely not right now – there was no threat in Dawn’s house. No, the real problem was out there in form of Ivan and Daisy and their attempts at killing gods.

Mike looked at him as if he’d gone mad for real this time. “From Mitchell.”

At the mention of his lover Anders’ eyes inadvertently flickered to the bedroom door. _Damnit_.

“Mitchell is not– no, Mike, stop!”

In a heartbeat Mike had covered the remaining distance to Anders. The blond moved back and placed himself in front of the bedroom door in a defensive position. Mike grabbed him by the shoulders in an attempt to shove him aside, the grip not too hard to hurt Anders but strong enough to make him gasp when Mike’s fingers dug into his flesh. Anders swayed slightly – a moment that Mike used to reach for the door handle. Anders’ arm shot out to block the entrance and steady himself on the frame.

“Stop it, Mike,” Anders said through gritted teeth, determined to jam his shoulder into Mike’s stomach should he try again. He was tired and his muscles quivered, yes, but Anders wouldn’t let anyone besides Dawn come close to the vampire. Mike and his misguided ideas should damn well stay away from Mitchell, from them both.

Mike let go of him and pulled back his arm. He stared at Anders, his hands clenched in fists. “Let me go in there.”

“No,” Anders panted and shook his head, his right still blocking the door handle, “You stay away from him, you hear me?”

“Mike, maybe you should…” sounded Axl’s voice as he and Olaf took a step into their direction.

“He’s not a threat,” Anders interrupted his brother, “back off, Mike.”

His heart was beating heavily in his chest as Anders repositioned himself, his eyes closely following Mike. There was no way he would enter that room – not while Anders was still standing.

“There’s a…” Mike looked over his shoulder to make sure Dawn wasn’t in the room yet and lowered his voice, “a bloody vampire in that room and you’re protecting him? I’m not your enemy, Anders, he is.”

“No,” Anders hissed, “I’m starting to think it’s you who wants to do me harm.”

“Anders, we’re here to help you,” Axl said but made sure to stay where he was as to not upset Anders further. Anders barely glanced at him, all attention fixed on Mike.

“That sounded a lot different when I came to you for help,” Anders spat out and went on to impersonate Mike in a venomous voice, “ _It can’t be true that you offer your blood for us, Anders, you selfish prick_. _He’s an illusion, Anders, you’re out of your fucking mind_.”

Before he could say more, Mike’s eyes narrowed and he lunged forward.

Anders attempted to grab his brother’s arm but Mike blocked him effectively with his right, pushing his weight into the blond. Anders stumbled under the sudden attack and used his left to shove Mike out of the way. The angle was off, though, and before he could try again Mike’s hand shot out and pushed the door handle down. The door to the bedroom swung open. Anders freed one arm and fumbled to close the door again when Mike struggled against him, trying to push through. This time, however, Anders was prepared and managed to keep him away. He gasped under Mike’s mass, his body hurting like hell. Just as he thought he couldn’t oppose Mike any longer, the weight was gone and Anders staggered, grabbing the door frame. In front of him, Mike was held back by Olaf, arms bent back as he was pulled away from the blond.

“Mike, calm down,” Olaf said while keeping a tight grip on Mike. He pulled against Olaf’s massive hands once but then stopped battling against him and glanced through the opened bedroom door.

Anders breathed heavily. Mike had drawn together his eyebrows, anger surrounding him in a nervous buzz as he stared past the door frame at Mitchell. The vampire was still sleeping soundly, undisturbed by the ruckus outside the door.

“But…” Mike croaked out, wetting his lips as he took in Mitchell’s state.

“Is he real enough for you, Mike?” Anders spat out violently and made sure that he filled out the frame of the bedroom door, “Or do you want to get close, take a look at all the wounds he has sustained because of you? Maybe poke him?”

“Guys…” Axl said in a warning tone and a moment later Anders understood why when Dawn and Ty entered the living room arm in arm.

“Anders! Glad to see you, I…” Ty stumbled over the rest of the sentence as he took in the scene that was laid out in front of them.

“Wha-” he started again when Dawn gave a high screech and let go of him. She pushed Axl out of her way gently but determined and placed herself between Mike and  
Anders. The blond was still grabbing the doorframe as Dawn threw him a quizzical glance. Anders nodded wordlessly to let her know that he was okay. Assured, Dawn turned around and stared at Mike with such vigour that Olaf let go of his arms and took a step back. Anders’ eyes were fixed on Dawn and despite only seeing her back he could tell that the skin on her throat and neck turned red with anger.

“Mike Johnson, how dare you,” Dawn said in a pressed tone, making an effort to keep her voice down for Mitchell’s sake, “You barge in here without _any_ shred of respect or decency. There are two injured men here, one of whom is your brother. Behave a little more appropriate or leave right now. I won’t have you disturbing my home and my patients.”

Silence. Five pairs of eyes stared at Dawn who was shaking from anger, staring down the oldest Johnson brother. In wonder, Anders saw how all aggression vanished from Mike as he shifted uncomfortably under Dawn’s attention. Anders grabbed the door handle and closed the door quietly.

“I’m sorry, Dawn,” Mike said and looked at the floor, “I was out of line.”

“Yes. Thank you for your apology.” She released Mike from her scrutinizing glance. “You all are welcome to stay but the second you lay a finger on either Anders or Mitchell I want you gone. Understood?”

“Yes…” all mumbled.

“Good.” Dawn took a breath and shoved a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll make tea.”

With that statement, Dawn turned on her heels and walked past the Johnsons into the kitchen.

For a short time, no one said a word. Then, Olaf’s chuckle cut through the silence.

“Our Dawn… she is so remarkably fierce.” He motioned to his grandsons. “Come on, sit down, all of you.”

Adhering to Olaf’s words each brother picked a spot: with a silent but pained sigh Anders sat down on the armchair he was standing next to. Mike took the one opposite while Axl and Ty sat on the couch. Olaf himself remained standing.

“Now, we’re guests and Dawn is right, we have no right to disturb her home,” the oracle said, “as the oldest member of this family I will be the mediator for now. We’ll go through this one by one and then hopefully arrive at a conclusion that is acceptable for everyone.”

“What, like a thing?” Axl wanted to know, “Can’t we go somewhere else for that? Like a restaurant? I’m starving.”

Olaf shook his head. “No, Axl, that would be a bergerbar and serve a different purpose. We’ll stay here. It’s a neutral middle ground.”

Mike pinched the bridge of his nose and said through gritted teeth, “We can’t talk about vampires with Dawn in the next room.”

“We can’t kick her out of her own home,” Ty objected.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something to make her leave for a while,” Olaf said and smiled at Ty.

Ty sighed, got up and shuffled into the kitchen. A few minutes later, he came back with Dawn in tow. She was wearing a trench coat and had a bag slung over her shoulder.

“I’m going to the shop,” she announced.

“Great,” Axl beamed, “would you mind getting me…”

“Axl!” Ty hissed and stared his little brother down.

“Uhm… I mean, see you later, Dawn,” Axl tried to save his faux-pas.

“I’ll be off then,” Dawn said in a frosty voice, “if you don’t need my help right now, Anders.”

She looked at him intently. The way she clearly stated whose side she was on nearly broke Anders heart and he hastened to answer.

“I’m good, Dawn,” he attempted a smile, “Thank you.”

Anders was fairly sure that he could handle his family from here on out – Dawn’s speech had successfully put them in their place and that Mitchell existed was also sufficiently established. He really needed to think of something to repay her not only for her help but also honour her loyalty.

A mumble of good-byes and see-you-laters followed Dawn to the door.

“Thank you, Ty,” Olaf said after the sound of the closing door had reached the living room. He turned to Anders.

“First things first: how are you, Anders, do you need a doctor?”

“No…” Anders shook his head, “I’m all patched up. Let’s just move on.”

His limbs were aching after the additional rough-and-tumble with Mike but the sooner this was over with he could climb back into bed with Mitchell.

“Did that vampire do that to you?” Mike hissed. _And here we go_. Anders flinched lightly at the harsh sound Mike emphasised the word “vampire” with.

“Mike…” Olaf said in a warning voice.

“No, Mike,” Anders answered, attempting to remain as calm as possible, “in fact, _Mitchell_ made sure we got out.”

“Out from what?”

“The ambush that happened to us,” he answered, devoid of emotion. It wasn’t worth getting worked up over all this again.

Mike seemed to be of another opinion. “Why is he here?”

“Because he’s recovering.”

“But he’s… he’s…” Mike clenched his fists and his sentence ended in a frustrated groan.

Anders sighed. “Yeah? What is he?”

“What Mike wants to say,” Ty chimed in, “is that we’re worried about you, Anders.”

 _Bullshit_. “Are you? That’s great.”

Anders’ sarcasm cut through the building tension and Olaf lifted his hands, speaking up.

“Why don’t we start at the beginning. It is clear that the vampire Mitchell is real so, Anders, could you please tell us what’s going on with you two?”

Olaf smiled encouragingly at Anders in his relaxed way, cutting that first round of pointless questioning short.

Thankful, Anders nodded and shifted in his seat. All eyes were on him as he took a deep breath. This time, his family was actually listening – he should make it count.

“As I said,” he started in a measured tone, “the Old Ones, the vampire elite if you will, are hunting Odin. Ivan and his wife Daisy, to be more specific, were picking up on our trail. Mitchell knows them and because he was hooked on my blood at that time he offered me a deal.”

“Your blood for protection,” Ty summarised.

“Exactly. I agreed and Mitchell planted a diversion. Which wasn’t great because he didn’t have proper information: he thought I was Odin at the time. So long story short, he lost Ivan’s trust, you accused me of being delusional and Mitchell and I… we sort of… stuck together.”

“Dealer and addict? How nice,” Axl commented and crossed his arms.

 _How fucking dare you._ Suddenly, anger bubbled up in Anders’ stomach. In an attempt to control it he narrowed his eyes and dug his nails into the surface of the armchair. The… ugly start of their relationship was buried deep in the back of his mind. This version of Mitchell wasn’t real to him anymore yet Axl’s comment unearthed a fraction of that old reality.

“Axl, please let Anders continue,” Olaf said but before he could finish his sentence, the blond threw Axl a nasty look.

“More like two rejected people who are done with being instrumentalised,” Anders shot back.

“Sounds like you two have a special connection,” Axl’s voice dripped with poison, “Almost like me and Gaia.”

“Axl!” Mike scolded him.

“Okay, Axl, calm down,” Olaf said and laid his hand on Axl’s shoulder to keep him from jumping out of his seat. “I know you still have an issue with Anders but this has got nothing to do with Gaia. We’re here for your brother, we agreed on that.”

Axl gritted his teeth, sizing up Anders, and finally nodded.

Ty made sure that Axl was sitting back down before he turned to Anders. “So what did you and Mitchell do?”

At least Ty wasn’t acting like a prick. He even used Mitchell’s name rather than talking about him as “the vampire”.

“We tried to figure out a plan and got Mitchell off my blood,” Anders continued, talking to Ty more than to anyone else, “He isn’t feeding from me anymore. And then we were ambushed by Ivan and Daisy, Mitchell’s acquaintances that hunt us. That’s how we got the wounds.”

He paused and added then, “I know you think Mitchell’s the bad guy in all this but trust me, he’s not.”

“Why did Mitchell turn on his kind?” Ty asked without accusation, “Just because of the blood?”

Anders shrugged. “I guess.”

“And now that he’s clean…” Ty hesitated as if to find the right words to avoid hurting Anders, “are you sure he doesn’t hand us over to the Old Ones?”

The calm way in which Ty spoke made it possible for Anders to answer without taking offense.

“I’m sure,” he said firmly.

Axl moved in his seat, uneasily playing with his hands. “You actually offered your blood to save us?”

“Yes.” _Do you finally get it through your stubborn head?_

Silence dominated the room for a few seconds. Then, Axl looked at Anders.

“I didn’t believe you. And I called you crazy.” He shook his head lightly. “I’m sorry, bro.”

Anders looked at his younger brother in disbelief. Then, he nodded. Accepting Axl’s apology was easier than he thought – then again, he hadn’t been the one to start the whole delusions-business.

Mike looked at Axl as if contemplating something and turned to Anders once more. “Are you saying that the vam-, that Mitchell is on our side now?”

“Yes,” Anders answered.

“What if he lies?”

There it was again, that accusatory tone. Anders made an effort to not snap at his older brother – this meeting was going okay so far and he didn’t exactly expect an apology from Mike. Still the fact that he questioned not only Mitchell but also Anders’ capability of judging Mitchell left a bitter taste.

“He doesn’t lie, Mike. He won’t let anyone hurt me.”

Mike drew his eyebrows together in question. “Why?”

The utter confusion in that one syllable did it.

“Because I’m important to him, okay?” Anders yelled, his abused throat protesting in a sharp flash of pain.

He stood up from the armchair and took a step towards Mike. “Believe it or not but there is actually someone who doesn’t think I’m a fucking waste of space!”

Olaf attempted to step between the brothers but Anders stared him down so fiercely that he stopped in his movement. Axl tilted his head and opened his mouth to ask something but a warning look from Ty made him shut up.

Mike slowly stood up, careful not to give Anders a reason to attack him.

“No one is thinking that.” The words were nearly whispered as Mike looked over Anders’ shoulder.

“Bullshit,” Anders hissed, “You were the one to come up with the oh-so convenient idea that I’m fucking insane rather than listening to what I had to say.”

The lack of reaction in Mike’s demeanour made it hard for Anders to _do_ something with the anger that was surging through him. A deep growl came out of his throat, involuntarily.

Finally, Mike met Anders’ eyes. “You’re right. I should’ve listened. That was not okay.”

“What?” Anders dead-panned when he registered what Mike had just said. Was that an… apology? An acknowledgement of guilt?

“I fucked up, Anders,” Mike went on, “I misjudged the situation. Terribly so. With everything that had happened before, the whole Gaia/Idunn thing…”

Mike ran his hand through his hair, “I thought you wanted to somehow justify yourself, proclaim yourself a hero. But I was wrong. I should’ve been there for you. You were suffering and I didn’t see it. In fact, I made it worse.”

 _Yes, you did_ , Anders wanted to throw at his brother but the broken look in Mike’s eyes made him reconsider. Mike was actually feeling guilty, he realised.

“Anders, I’m sorry.”

Mike lifted his hand to put it on Anders’ shoulder in a comforting gesture but halfway there, he froze.

Anders felt a little light-headed all of the sudden. What the hell should he do with this? He hadn’t been sure whether he wanted Mike’s apology to begin with but here he was, staring at his brother with a knot in his stomach and his throat closing.

As Anders registered Mike’s awkward attempt at a physical connection he remembered that he still hadn’t said anything.

 _It’s fine_ or _Don’t worry about it_ were out of the question. It wasn’t fine and Mike should damn well worry about it – which he had, a fact that Anders’ mind still tried to grasp.

 _He actually apologised_. Now that the words were out and spoken by his brother Anders understood how starved he had been for it. For this apology, for support from his older brother.

“Thank you,” Anders murmured, looking Mike in the eyes.

Mike’s hand landed on his arm and gave a light squeeze. Anders hesitantly grabbed Mike’s shoulder, reciprocating the gesture with a little shiver of relief. A small smile by Mike and they let go of each other, sitting back down again.

The other Johnsons remained silent, leaving Anders to enjoy that moment. The overall nervousness and resentment that had dominated the last days were gone and maybe, just maybe things were looking up again.

“So what do we do now?” Axl asked quietly.

“There’s another thing we have to talk about,” Anders said, hoping to not destroy their new-found basis, “tomorrow, we are meeting with Ivan to negotiate.”

“Negotiate what?” Olaf asked and tilted his head.

“A deal. Peace. Something like that,” Anders answered, “When Ivan attacked us, he obviously didn’t have us killed. He let us walk. Well, stumble, in Mitchell’s case.”

“I’ve been wondering about that…” Ty said, “how come?”

“We had no choice but to give out the information that Axl is Odin,” Anders explained calmly, “Now don’t freak, Mitchell kept them from running off and killing you the next minute. I don’t know how he pulled it off but he and Ivan go way back, apparently. He must’ve called in a favour or something. Ivan got all weirdly wistful, wondering about what to do and how we could come to an arrangement. He wanted me to speak for the gods but I pointed out that I’m not Odin and that we need to discuss first. He wouldn’t give me more time so this time tomorrow, we’re standing across from Ivan and better have a good deal to offer him.”

“How would such a deal look like?” Mike asked and Anders appreciated his calm question, “We don’t even know what he wants.”

Anders nodded. “Which is why we need Mitchell.”

The blond stood up from the chair. A split second he considered telling his family about his arrangement with Colin only to discard the idea immediately. No, he was pushing his luck as it was. No need to break down what they had just built up. Besides, all that new information was enough for them to stomach for now. Colin became interesting when it got to the point of finding a proposition to present Ivan with. Until then, he would keep quiet about it.

“I haven’t talked to a vampire since 1971…” Olaf interrupted his thoughts in the dreamy voice he slipped into when admiring something.

“Is he…” Ty wetted his lips nervously, “I mean, are we… safe?”

Anders snorted and raised an eyebrow. “He’s not a wild animal, Ty.”

“Sorry.”

Anders turned to the bedroom door. “Alright, you start to think up what our resources are and I’ll get Mitchell.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for still sticking around, commenting and bearing with me and this crazy long story ^^ A few more chapters and this baby is done, I think.  
> And hello to the new people who kudosed, subscribed and commented! Lovely of you to stop by :)


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "'What’s going on?' Mitchell asked.
> 
> 'My family is here.' Anders curled his fingers around Mitchell’s and the Irishman lightly squeezed them. That had to happen sooner rather than later. And it explained the weird blend of nervousness and uncertainty that buzzed around Anders."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update... I wasn't feeling too intense and dramatic the past few weeks to get this show on the road properly ^^  
> But here we are, hope you enjoy it!

Mitchell’s eyes fluttered open and it took his dazed head a second to place the situation. Anders was lying next to him on the bed, almost in the same position as he had when Mitchell had fallen asleep. His blue eyes were looking at him, his lips turned up in a gentle smile.

“Hey…” Mitchell slurred in a rasping voice. God, it sounded like he was gargling marbles.

“Hey… how are you feeling?” Anders asked.

 _Good question_. Mitchell tried to escape Morpheus’s arms long enough to answer and shuffled to sit up a little, the blanket sliding down to his waist. The fact that no piercing pain accelerated his waking was something to put down on the plus side, regardless how awful his gauzed-up torso looked. Red swellings peeked out of the bandages and a strange pressure was weighing on his rib. The pain in his right shoulder had dimmed down to a tolerable throbbing and while his head slowly cleared up he realised that his body felt comfortably numb.

“I’m okay. Tired,” he mumbled and carefully touched his left cheek. The swelling extended to his eye.

A look of regret darted over Anders’ face as he lightly brushed over Mitchell’s hand.

“Sorry to wake you.”

Mitchell moved his head in a non-committal gesture and leaned back on the cushions, blinking at Anders. So it had been the blond’s gentle shaking of his uninjured shoulder that woke him and thankfully not another dizzy spell. Hard to say how long he had been out… the blinds blocked out most of the light anyway. But it didn’t seem too dark outside and to be honest Mitchell didn’t feel like he had slept a whole day. Anders surely didn’t wake him to meet Ivan. Come to think of it Anders looked differently, Mitchell thought. His cheeks had a colour that qualified as almost healthy but his eyes looked… driven?

“What’s going on?” Mitchell asked.

“My family is here.” Anders curled his fingers around Mitchell’s and the Irishman lightly squeezed them. That had to happen sooner rather than later. And it explained the weird blend of nervousness and uncertainty that buzzed around Anders.

“Did you talk to them already?” Mitchell asked.

“Yeah…” Anders nodded slowly and Mitchell wasn’t sure if he saw him or if his gaze went right through.

“How did it go?”

“Uhm…” the blond hesitated, looking down on their hands, “we have a working basis.”

He took a deep breath and met Mitchell’s eyes. “Mike apologised.”

Mitchell raised an eyebrow. He didn’t know Mike, of course – but he knew what this older brother figure was capable of and that was enough for Mitchell to doubt the sincerity of the apology. Not everyone was having a hard time saying sorry; Mike might well be one of those people whose apologies were little more than an accessory to their fuck-ups, used so often they were devoid of meaning. You didn’t just say sorry for convincing your brother he’s crazy and it was magically back to family ties and brotherly support.

“So I dreamt the whole ruckus on the other side of that door,” Mitchell said slowly.

“Not exactly,” Anders admitted and quickly added, “But it’s fine.”

 _Fine_? Mitchell barely held back an indignant scoff. Who the fuck did that Mike bloke think he was, barging in here and shoving Anders around? Mitchell had met his fair share of bullies and Mike sounded like he was a prime example. The Irishman quickly scanned Anders for additional bruises but it seemed like Mike hadn’t harmed him. At least nowhere visible.

“Did he hurt you?” Mitchell looked earnestly at Anders, checking for any kind of sudden reaction.

“No, Mitchell, he didn’t,” Anders shook his head, “Really. I’m okay.”

Mitchell nodded shortly, lifting their hands and pressing a quick kiss on the back of Anders’ hand. The blond didn’t look like he was lying and Mitchell trusted him to tell the truth. Besides, the bit that he had heard from the whole argument hadn’t sounded like a proper fight, thankfully. But still, Mike obviously wasn’t one for calm discussions and Mitchell had half a mind to put him in his place.

“He attacked you in Dawn’s house…” Mitchell murmured.

This hadn’t only been an attack on Anders but also on Dawn in some way. She was the last person Mitchell wanted to suffer from all this, that is to say no more than she already had.

“Mitchell… please,” Anders said quietly. His fingers left Mitchell’s and trailed up the inside of his arm, unfocussed.

The Irishman shook his head and huffed lightly. “How can you say it’s fine? This is fucked up. I still have a thing or two to discuss with him.”

Anders drew his eyebrows together. “Don’t feel obligated to defend me in front of Mike.”

“I don’t. I do it because I care about you,” Mitchell said fiercely.

This had nothing to do with obligation – Mitchell was sure Anders knew that. His comment was another in a long line of statements that betrayed how little people had cared about him in the past. But as the words had left his lips the blond shifted under Mitchell’s gaze, squirming and biting his lip.

“And because it’s the right thing to do,” the Irishman added to spare Anders the need to answer and indeed, the blond relaxed visibly.

“But not now,” Anders implored him, “Not here. Dawn’s house, remember?”

Mitchell grunted in response. He wasn’t going to _attack_ Mike… just threaten him, creep him out so he watched his goddamn back around him. Make sure he knew that Anders wasn’t his to bully and manipulate at will.

“An apology isn’t good enough,” Mitchell said with an edge to his tone.

“We’re not playing happy family,” Anders shot back, suddenly angry, “Besides, it’s still _my_ decision whether I accept or not.”

Anders' sharp comment caught Mitchell off guard. He was on the blond's side, wasn't as much clear? For a moment, they stared at each other until Mitchell lowered his gaze in a small bow of his head.

Anders sighed. “I don’t want to argue with you. I appreciate that you stand up for me, I really do. But don’t patronise me.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Mitchell said flatly.

“I know. But that’s how it feels.”

Mitchell nodded and almost shyly reached for Anders’ hand again, relieved when he didn’t pull away. The blond was clearly suffering and the last thing Mitchell wanted was to upset him further – regardless of his good intentions.

“How did you reply?” Mitchell asked gently.

“’Thank you’. He’s not off the hook, believe me,” Anders said quietly, “It doesn’t mean that I trust him. It means that I appreciate and acknowledge his apology. It’s an understanding that there are more important things afoot.”

 _That is a pretty important thing if you ask me_. Mitchell bit his tongue. There would be a time and place for this but Anders was right – at the moment they had bigger problems to face.

“It’s difficult enough even after the apology,” Anders went on, “But we can’t afford to lose time over this. Tomorrow we’re meeting Ivan and Daisy and we need a good defence.”

Mitchell sighed inaudibly. “You’re right. Sorry.”

 _And another apology_. Hopefully Anders wasn’t tired of them yet.

The blond placed a soft kiss on Mitchell’s lips, leaving the taste of summer and healing ointment as he moved closer to him.

“They’re all caught up about the attack and the meeting tomorrow,” Anders said as he stroked carefully over Mitchell’s stubbly jaw, “I haven’t said anything about Colin yet – they already have enough to process – but we have to tell them soon. They won’t like it.”

“Alright,” Mitchell nodded, leaning into the warm touch.

“We’re trying to figure out what to negotiate with Ivan… which is why I woke you. You know him best.”

“Right.” Mitchell hoped that his reassuring smile would make the worried frown on Anders’ face disappear.

“So you will come with me?” Anders asked.

“Of course,” Mitchell kept his voice as warm as possible. “Who’s there?”

“Mike, Axl, Olaf, and Ty. The whole bunch.”

“Where’s Dawn?”

“We… uhm…” Anders pulled lightly on one of Mitchell’s curls, “she’s out, getting groceries.”

“You kicked her out?” Mitchell translated, “Jesus…”

“She can’t know about that stuff and we can’t go anywhere else. It’s best for her, believe me. That way I don't have to use Bragi's talent on her.”

Mitchell huffed disapprovingly but kept quiet.

“Can you get up?” Anders finally asked.

“Yes,” the Irishman followed Anders' changing of the subject and started to move. “The blood works. I’ll still need a while to recover but I’m feeling a lot better.”

“You look better,” Anders smiled at him.

Mitchell chuckled. “Liar.”

Then, he pointed to a chair by the window. “Dawn put some clothes out for me…”

Anders stood up and grabbed the black v-neck shirt and grey sweatpants. “Seems like we’re both wearing Ty’s things now.”

“Well, if that’s not a starting point for bonding…” Mitchell joked.

Anders shot him a grin, his dimples showing, and for a split second Mitchell felt at ease in their casual banter. Almost as if they were back in the safety of Mitchell’s bedroom, carefully tucked away from the world.

Anders helped Mitchell put on the clothes with efficient moves, taking care not to inflict further pain on his injuries. Once fully dressed, Anders made sure to bind the Irishman's arm lightly to his body so the shoulder wouldn't be strained by sudden movements.

“Ready?” Anders asked and ran his hand softly through Mitchell’s curls.

He nodded. “Let’s go.”

 

* * * * * *

 

Anders pushed down the handle of the door and the murmur on the other side died down. A look back at Mitchell and the Irishman nodded at him shortly before Anders opened the door entirely, stepping through the frame. Mitchell could tell Anders was feeling nervous – his shoulders weren’t as straight as he was used to and his steps, while still speaking of confidence, lacked the usual cockiness.

Behind him, Mitchell entered the living room and was presented with four pairs of eyes staring directly at him, all in different levels of astonishment, doubt and curiosity. Despite his bound right arm Mitchell made an effort to stand tall – even though they were more in numbers he wanted to establish right away that he shouldn’t be fucked with. His posture was hovering on the border from confident to aggressive and the shorter of the Johnsons imitated him. Unknowingly or not Mitchell couldn’t say.

“This is Mitchell,” Anders gestured towards him, his eyes remaining on his family. “Mitchell, this is my family. My brothers Ty, vessel of Hod, God of all things dark and cold,” he pointed to a pale, dark-haired man who nodded at Mitchell shyly, breaking eye-contact as quickly as possible without appearing rude, “Axl, who is Odin,” Anders indicated the youngest and possibly tallest man standing in the living room.

“Hi,” Axl said and tried a smile that didn’t exactly convince Mitchell. He appreciated the gesture, though.

“And Mike, Ullr, God of the hunt.” Anders pointed to the stocky, smaller man who had imitated Mitchell’s pose.

 _So that’s the fine apologetic brother who cares deeply_. Mitchell narrowed his eyes ever so slightly as Mike stared at him, unblinking. Well, Mitchell could stand a challenge. He kept his gaze and did the reverse nod: chin jerking up rather than down. Mike tilted his head and Mitchell saw his jaw lock.

“And, last but not least,” Anders went on, unimpressed by the brief but clear battle they had started, “my grandpa Olaf, the oracle.”

The blond indicated a man as tall and lanky as Axl but more muscled than the youngest Johnson. Olaf smiled at him openly and offered his hand, only to realize that Mitchell’s right was held in a sling.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mitchell,” he said, either entirely disregarding the tension or actively not feeling it.

Mitchell’s tense expression dropped shortly at this unexpected bout of friendliness, unsure whether he was mocked or no. But Olaf seemed sincere.

“Hello,” Mitchell said and decided on a serious face but a somewhat nice nod. For Anders.

For a moment, they stood there in Dawn’s living room, silently.

"Would you like to sit down?" Olaf offered with a smile.

"Thanks," Mitchell said and carefully placed himself on one armchair while the other Johnsons took the places they had stood up from. Olaf remained standing as did Anders, keeping to Mitchell's left.

"Alright." The questionable honour of opening this meeting was Anders' – bridge between the gods and vampires. Mitchell was relieved that it wasn't any of the other family members. That way the talk could probably amount to something and Mitchell had time to figure out their dynamics.

Anders brought them up to speed and just by way of reacting to him the family already gave away that Mike was the main influence on them. They all listened to Anders carefully but with a side glance to Mike ever so often. Even Anders was mostly talking to Mike despite addressing them all. Olaf was the exception – his eyes were steadily focused on Anders, listening attentively, not paying Mike any mind. Good thing the oracle seemed well-disposed to him.

“What I'm saying is that it’s not looking too bad," Anders closed his monologue, "Ivan won’t kill Odin and wants to talk to us about how to proceed. He has, however, sparked the idea to find and kill Frigg as a compromise.”

Ty frowned at the idea. “That’s no compromise.”

“Yes, it is,” Mitchell said seriously. “You guys survive, live a happy, human-length life and Ivan will have his certainty that you won’t receive your powers.”

“But we can’t sacrifice Frigg,” Ty objected, looking first Mitchell square in the eyes and then turning to Mike and Olaf, “We don’t even know who she is.”

Ty didn’t seem to be shy or intimidated after all, Mitchell thought in approval.

“Which might make it easier,” he pointed out. “You wouldn’t have anything to with it, if it’s any consolation. Ivan and Daisy would hunt her down.”

Not one of his finer lies, Mitchell thought. You didn't have to be a soldier or have lived for a hundred years to understand the gravity of such a decision. It's not always the man who pulls the trigger – or in his case bares the fangs – who is responsible.

Axl shook his head slowly, apparently sharing Mitchell's thoughts. “It’d be our fault, regardless of who kills her. We agree and her blood is on our hands.”

“Yes,” Mitchell conceded and cringed at his own words, “But it’s either her or you.”

This kind of thinking had been instilled in him a long time ago, a typical vampire mantra that justifies the means as well as the ends. He had grown weary of it a few times over the course of his life but especially during the past weeks a part of him had been convinced he had left this reasoning behind.

Olaf lifted his hands in a peaceful gesture. “I think we shouldn’t jump to conclusion too hastily. There must be another way to go about this. Mitchell, what does Ivan want?”

He turned to the vampire with a friendly nod – Mitchell still wasn’t entirely sure what to make of Olaf but he seemed to be the mediator they all needed desperately.

“Ivan is afraid that we vampires will be subjugated by Norse gods,” Mitchell said.

Strange to think that not too long ago Mitchell himself had wholeheartedly agreed to it. Every new round of this conversation increased the distance between him and Ivan yet not only Anders was the bridge between gods and vampires.

Ty huffed in surprise. “We don’t have any intention of subjugating anyone”

Mitchell nodded patiently. “I know that. Not Ivan, though. You can try and convince him but I don’t think this will end well for you.”

“Is there a way to fight him, somehow?” Axl asked.

 _One for the hands-on approach_. Mitchell hesitated. “It’s difficult. He’s one of the Old Ones. Anders and I talked about that already…”

Maybe they should hear about this from one of their own. Mitchell threw Anders a glance and he took over.

“We thought Colin to do it.”

“Colin?” Mike repeated, staring at Anders.

Mitchell shifted in his seat as he saw Mike lean forward.

"Yes," Anders said and went on before Mike had a chance to interrupt him, “My power only works on vampires for a very limited amount of time. There is no way I can talk Ivan and Daisy into leaving us alone. Mitchell can’t take them out because he’d be killed for treason by the other Old Ones once they find out. So we asked Colin. He’s the only one cunning enough to could kill both Ivan and Daisy before they have a chance to retaliate.”

“You already talked to him?” Mike scoffed and stood up, walking a few steps towards the window. His hand rubbed through his face.

“We agreed, actually,” Anders said with a hint of defiance in his voice while Mitchell kept a close eye on Mike. Who knew how much he would tolerate before he had another go at Anders. The other brothers seemed to take the news fairly easy – generally they didn't appear overly aggressive against Anders. But Mike… if he acted out of line, no injured shoulder or broken rib could keep Mitchell in his seat.

Mike wetted his lips, visibly struggling to keep himself composed. “What did he ask of you?”

Anders faced him head-on. “Nothing that has got anything to do with you.”

“Anders…” Mike said slowly and just for that Mitchell felt like punching him in the throat. The long first syllable sounded as if he was talking to a petulant child who wouldn’t own up to his mistakes.

“The last time you decided on a deal on behalf of the entire family…” Mike let the sentence hang in the air between them, giving Mitchell a short but unmistakable once-over.

 _You fucking bastard_. Mitchell clenched his jaw but before he could give in to his sudden desire drinking from another god Anders touched his arm and gave it a quick squeeze.

“A blank cheque, Mike,” Anders said matter-of-factly.

Mike gave an angry snort and tried to stare Mitchell down as if it was his fault.

 _Come on. Say something. Do something. Just give me a bloody good reason._ Mitchell narrowed his eyes, his muscles tensing. He was holding back for Anders’ sake but his restraint only went so far.

Mike opened his mouth to say something but there was Olaf, putting his hand on the smaller man’s shoulder.

The tense silence was just on the verge of becoming toxic when Ty spoke up.

“You know that it’s not a great idea to work with Colin?” His tone was more concerned than accusatory, shaping Mitchell's impression further.

Anders shrugged. “Well, I’m all ears for a new suggestion.”

Axl leaned forward, his right drumming a pattern on his left forearm. “Colin is a wanker, yeah, but that might actually be the solution. If he works fast enough he can spare us the meeting and all problems that arise from it.”

Mitchell shook his head. “It’s not an option anymore.”

Axl looked at him in confusion. “Why?”

“Ivan and I, we go way back,” he said, deliberately not answering Axl’s question directly. He could spend hours explaining the intricacies of their situation but for now it would be best if they just took his word for it.

“But you supported the idea of killing him before,” Mike challenged him and rested one hand on his hip, the other on the armchair next to him.

Mitchell threw him an angry look but tried to keep his voice calm. _For Anders_ , he reiterated, _and for Dawn_. “Yeah but things have changed. We’re square now.”

“Care to elaborate on that?” Mike asked with the same superior tone he had addressed Anders before.

 _Don’t try that with me_. Mitchell’s voice gained a sharp edge. “Not really, no.”

“Mitchell…” Anders' voice was quiet and just about reached Mitchell's ears.

The vampire took a breath, trying hard not to be riled up by Mike's condescending stare.

“Look, no one is in immediate danger. Ivan has actually agreed to give us a chance and I don’t intend to let it go to waste. I was a traitor in his eyes but we sorted it out which is why I can’t have him killed. Among other things.”

“Great,” Mike put as much contempt into his voice as possible, “So we’re basically mates, that Ivan-character and we. All because of you. That’s just… Next thing we know you hand our asses to him.”

“I could’ve done that a while ago and with less trouble,” Mitchell growled.

Mike answered with an aggressive jerk of his chin. “Are you sure you’re on our side?”

“I’m on Anders’ side.” Mitchell said pointedly to which Mike crossed his arms.

“Why?”

“Several reasons.” _None of which are your fucking business_.

“Very convenient.”

“I’m not justifying myself in front of you.”

“Maybe you should,” Mike shot back, all sarcasm vanishing from his face to reveal anger, “We know nothing about you except you drained our brother dry. And that’s not exactly a basis for trust, is it?”

Mitchell leaped to his feet in a smooth motion and covered the ground to Mike in two large steps, disregarding his hurting body.

“How fucking dare you, you prick,” Mitchell hissed as his eyes turned to black and his fangs protruded.

He stared at Mike whose eyes had grown wide. _That's right, don't fuck with me_. His hiss ended in a dark growl that had Mike take a second step back, slow and deliberate like Mitchell was a wild animal. The vampire didn't move forward or touch Mike – no, all he wanted was for him to know who he was faced with.

A few seconds and Mitchell made his fangs retract slowly while he spoke.

“You talk about trust? I doubt that’s what you’re after. I doubt you even have a working concept of what it means. You and your fucking self-righteousness," Mitchell snarled and only now switched his eyes back to their normal colour, "It’s petty, it’s downright pathetic. I didn’t hurt Anders. Contrary to you. Really, making Anders question his sanity? I’m not the fucking villain in this farce. The moral high ground doesn’t suit you, _Mike_. If you ever pull a stunt like this again I’ll rip your throat out before you even understand what happens to you. You need me to deal with Ivan. I don’t fucking care whether you trust me or not and the moment this is through you better not cross my path again.”

The silence was deafening. No one dared to speak up as Mike stared on, swallowing heavily, the shock on his face seemingly finding another way to intensify.

The only person to find his way out of the suspension was Olaf. He placed himself subtly in between Mike and Mitchell, pushing his eldest grandson gently back into the armchair.

“Mike, Mitchell is right," Olaf said calmly, "thanks to him we have a decent chance to find common ground with Ivan.”

He threw Mitchell an understanding look and the Irishman walked backwards, deliberately slow until he arrived back at his chair. When he looked around the room the younger Johnsons didn't dare meet his eyes. All except Anders. The blond gave him the tiniest hint of a smile.

Mike had somewhat regained his composure – he eyed Mitchell with respect but the fear that had shortly dominated was gone.

Axl threw Mike a glance. "Mike, I want this to go down as smoothly as possible. It's me who has to meet Ivan tomorrow so calm down. Mitchell is trying to help and so far he's doing a better job than any of us."

Mike only tilted his head in acknowledgement, lips pressed together.

Anders cleared his throat and tried to lead the conversation back to the problem at hand. “We can try to offer Ivan something to appease him. We’re lucky enough to get a chance.”

Mitchell was still tense, his eyes flicking over to Mike ever so often to make sure he stayed in his place – but he knew as well that it would be unfair to project his anger on the other brothers.

“Ivan definitely has the upper hand," he explained calmly, "He doesn’t need to talk to us. He does it out of respect for me.”

“Then we should make the most of it,” Olaf agreed solemnly.

“How about a deal?” Axl suggested.

Ty tilted his head in question. “Which sort?”

“He doesn’t kill anyone and we share our powers? Or we give him immunity.”

“A deal with a vampire?” Mike asked, his tone still strong but not as aggressive as before, “Sharing power? Have you lost your mind? Those…” he threw a short glance at Mitchell that the vampire decided to ignore, “those creatures are powerful enough as it is.”

Anders scoffed. “No one even knows what happens when we get our powers, Mike.”

“Exactly,” Mike said, “So we shouldn’t be hasty in giving them away.”

“We’re not giving anything away,” Anders pointed out, “All that strength is no good to you if you’re dead, is it?”

“That might work,” Ty agreed, “Sort of like an alliance. Ivan isn’t after any world-domination fantasy, is he?”

“No,” Mitchell shook his head, “he just doesn’t want to serve. He believes in rules and systems and wants to keep it in place the way it is now.”

“So if we offered him a pact assuring him that we continue to live in separate societies regardless of what happens…” Olaf thought out loud, “you think he would agree?”

“It's likely,” Mitchell said.

“Would other vampires come after us?” Axl asked.

“Well, he didn’t tell anyone else about this," Mitchell answered, "And if he agrees to this deal he will keep his word. Even if other Old Ones plan to do something he will hear about it and present the deal. So no, I’m sure you’ll be on the safe side.”

Olaf gestured at Mitchell. "Would you be okay with that or are you still in danger?"

"I'm good. This," Mitchell indicated his bruised body, "was the price to pay. Ivan is violent and ruthless but luckily he doesn't hold a grudge once an argument is settled. We won't work together again anyway…" Mitchell's voice trailed off.

"Because of our Anders," Olaf stated and Mitchell looked at him in surprise. “I think it’s clear that you care deeply about him.”

Everyone in the room stared at Olaf – for different reasons. Ty looked surprised, Mike frowned, Axl’s face was crunched up in confusion but Mitchell could only see Anders’ stunned expression. Difficult to say whether it was the content of Olaf’s words or the fact that the oracle _knew_.

"Okay grandpa," Axl said before another awkward silence could make itself at home, "easy on the emotions. I think we should wrap this up. Is everyone on board with the idea of that deal? They stop hunting gods and we grant not to interfere with their society?"

Affirmative murmur echoed off the walls and Axl nodded. "Good. Then let's do that."

 

* * * * * * *

 

It was late when they finished up the contract. Mike and Ty were in charge of assembling all relevant discussion points while Olaf as the oracle and oldest member of the family made sure the document was valid. Mitchell and Anders mostly kept out of everyone's way, not even talking among themselves. A strange quietness had overcome the blond as he listened to the narrative of his brothers, recapping their agreement and fixing a meeting place for tomorrow. After a while Anders left the living room, announcing to call Colin and make sure the deal was off. When he came back he looked paler than before and as Mitchell tried to catch his eyes Anders only smiled tiredly.

Even though Mitchell could feel his body heal he was bone tired – an exhaustion that no amount of blood could fix. He stayed in the armchair, moving only to give Ty his phone to let him text Ivan the details. Mitchell answered Axl's nervous questions about Ivan as well as he could and waited for this meeting to be over. Mike didn't make another pass at either Anders or him; in fact he didn't even glance at Mitchell.

In the middle of all this Dawn came back with bags full of groceries, offering to cook everyone dinner but by that time the official part was nearly done. She didn't ask what the hell they were still doing here and accepted Mitchell's explanation that his injuries had looked a lot nastier than they had been. His insides were okay, the shoulder had been the worst, the rib was hurting but alright and that nap and especially her kind care had done wonders. He was tough that way and yes, thank you, a new cool pack for shoulder and his swollen eye was perfect. She fixed him up again and allowed Ty to help her make tea and coffee for everyone. Half an hour later all the Johnsons, except for Ty and Anders, said their good-byes and left her apartment in the same sudden manner they had come.

"Is everything alright?" Dawn asked into the eerie silence that followed, addressing no one in particular.

"It will be, Dawnsie," Anders answered wearily and gave her a faint smile. "Mitchell and I will be out of your way now, too."

"You don't have to go. You can stay here if you like," Dawn offered sincerely.

"Thanks but we'll get a cab and go back to my place."

Ty nodded. "Do you need anything?"

Anders exchanged a short glance with Mitchell. "A good night's sleep."

Finally, with many assurances that they'll be fine and even more thanks, Mitchell and Anders left Dawn and Ty.

What a pitiful sight they must be, bruised and dressed up in other people's ill-fitting clothes, Mitchell thought as he and Anders carefully slid on the backseat of the cab. Anders sighed and leaned on Mitchell's left shoulder, eyes closed, exhaustion lining his face. The Irishman's recovery was visibly faster than Anders' and Mitchell felt a jab of guilt. The feeding had helped him but weakened Anders further. High time they got back to the apartment and into bed. Tomorrow could wait. Had to, actually.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment for recovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Much. Angst.  
> And a bit of porn.

When they had arrived at Anders’ flat what little energy that remained had left both of them. Mitchell had insisted they eat a few of the sandwiches Dawn had given them but Anders barely managed to finish the first one without falling asleep. He didn’t look well, Mitchell had thought with worry and made sure that he got into bed as fast as possible. He was far from okay himself but Anders had looked like he would collapse any moment. “What about my fish?” Anders had asked groggily when Mitchell put the blanket over him and so the brunet had fed the poor neglected creatures before slipping in next to the already sleeping blond.

Mitchell woke two minutes before the alarm went off. He stirred under the blanket, checking on Anders first. He was still sleeping and with a glance to the clock Mitchell stretched one arm from under the warm blanket to press the right button to give Anders another hour of sleep. They had enough buffer time planned and the meeting wasn’t until the early afternoon. Mitchell took a closer look at Anders. His face was still pale but he slept soundly, almost peacefully. No wonder that he was drained after yesterday’s happenings – that was more than anyone should have to face in one day.

The swelling in his face had receded for the most part; that was the good news. The cut on his cheek was closed by scab but had taken on a darker reddish shade. The surrounding skin was coloured equally strongly, bruises spreading to his eye and halfway down his cheek. Anders’ lip was back to its normal size as well but the gash shone brightly on the pale surroundings. Peeking out of his shirt the strangulation marks were another thing entirely: they had taken on a variety of colours, one looking sicker than the next. And these were only the visible injuries, Mitchell thought with a knot in his stomach. Anders could count himself lucky if he didn’t hurt with every move he made.

Mitchell himself felt alright. His broken rib was still queasy with every breath but already on the mend, his shoulder was almost in its normal condition. Of course he couldn’t say how his black eye and the scraped up skin on his throat and neck looked but no pain cut through him. The bruises on his torso had faded as well, leaving only a few smudged marks. With careful fingers he touched the tender skin. _All because of Anders’ blood_. It had only been a few sips, just short of a high for him. To gain this healing effect from human blood he would’ve needed to drink dry half a football team.

Mitchell sighed. Of course he was thankful that Anders had helped him. But he also feared that the cost might be greater than the gain. So far his vow to stop drinking from Anders had been a catastrophic failure. At least he didn’t do it for kicks. For neither of them the feeding had been the exhilarating experience it had started out with all these months ago.

Anders stirred, waking up gradually as he looked at Mitchell through fluttering eyes. “Mornin’…” he mumbled.

“Hey you,” Mitchell answered quietly, pressing a kiss on Anders’ shoulder. The blond turned to his side and attempted to scoot closer to Mitchell when he scrunched up his face in pain. He shuffled around until he found a seemingly painless position and buried his head in the crook of Mitchell’s neck.

For a while, they didn’t speak and simply lay there, Mitchell’s hands stroking the blond locks and Anders breathing steadily against his skin.

“How are you feeling?” Mitchell asked finally, making his words sound as warm as possible.

Anders took his time with the answer. “Glad we’ve ticked off the meeting with my family.”

 _You and me, both_. “It wasn’t too bad, was it?” Mitchell asked in a casual voice.

Anders’ head left its place on Mitchell’s neck as he moved back a bit. Mitchell chuckled at the expression of bewilderment on Anders’ face – he stared at him as if he had lost his mind.

“In fact,” Mitchell went on with a grin, “I was wondering whether I should ask Mike to join me and the boys at the pub every Wednesday.”

An amused snort came from Anders. “You and the boys?”

“Yeah, we have pool teams and everything,” Mitchell nodded, delighted to make Anders laugh with this surreal story of normality. “Mike and I will play together, obviously. Shouldn’t be a problem now we’re such great mates.”

Anders laughed in that cute little chuckle that ran through his entire body as he shook his head. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah,” Mitchell admitted. “Come here.”

He pulled Anders back into his arms, careful to keep his touch as light as possible. With a content sigh, Anders kissed the base of Mitchell’s throat softly and settled into his larger frame.

Despite their easy conversation, the brunet could tell that Anders was fully awake now and with that came the thoughts of the impending meeting. His back felt a little tense under Mitchell’s hands and his fingers drummed a pattern on the Irishman’s skin.

“This time tomorrow we’re free,” Mitchell whispered.

Anders looked up at him with a smile. “I’d love to believe that…” A tiny sigh fell off his lips and his eyes clouded with worry. “But it’s unlikely. There’s still Colin to consider.”

Colin. Right. Anders hadn’t said much after his call, only that he had taken care of it. The paleness that had crept into his face had told a different tale but Mitchell had refrained from asking while the Johnsons were still there.

“What did he say?” Mitchell asked softly.

“I told him the deal was off,” Anders said slowly, “Nothing more, nothing about the contract and my family and… you. Just that I’m calling it off. Malicious fucker that he is he insisted to keep the blank cheque. I still owe him a favour.”

 _What?_ That bastard. Mitchell had the sudden urge to find Colin and rip his fucking throat out to put an end to all those deals, favours and complications. One less player on the board.

“But that’s…” he started, trying to work out how to put his anger into words.

“Unfair? Not how deals work? Yeah, I know,” Anders said in a voice devoid of feelings and his hold on Mitchell became a bit tighter.

The fact that he didn’t even get angry about this unsettled Mitchell more than the open favour. “Can’t we do something about it?”

“Not really,” Anders shook his head, frowning, “He told me in no uncertain terms that he doesn’t appreciate being ordered about. I know Colin – had I bargained for him to let me off the hook he would’ve planned revenge. So I let him have his favour.”

Mitchell nodded. It wasn’t pretty but it made sense. Like every goddamn deal he had ever been a part of, he thought warily. “He’ll ask something nasty of you.”

“Of course. Even more so now that he’s pissed off with me.” Anders tried for a shrug and a smile but it fell flat, the stress drawing lines on his face.

He paused a moment and added quietly, “It doesn’t ever stop, does it?”

The disillusion in Anders’ tone hurt Mitchell almost physically. _He can’t give up now_. They were so close to some kind of closure, just one bloody signature away from being done with this latest episode of gods vs. vampires.

“I don’t know,” Mitchell hesitated, winding Anders’ locks around his fingers. How should he answer such a question? He had been around long enough to have a rough understanding how those things usually pan out and start up again in a different shape – but that didn’t mean that this scenario didn’t differ. He stroked over Anders’ hair lightly, finally opting for the truth.

“No. Not for the likes of us. But it also doesn’t continue like this. We’re in the thick of it now but that doesn’t mean we’ll never catch a break.”

Anders remained silent as he considered Mitchell’s words before looking up and placing a chaste kiss on his lips. A small smile played around his mouth that sparked the Irishman’s hope that some of Anders’ spirit was still up to soldier on.

They fell silent, the only sound in Mitchell’s ear being Anders’ breaths, sounding normal save for a few pained intakes of air ever so often.

“Seriously, how are you?” Mitchell asked with concern, remembering that Anders hadn’t answered his question, “Do you need anything?”

“I feel like I took part in a street fight…” Anders said, sounding a lot more light-hearted than before, “Oh wait, I have!”

Anders grinned, satisfied with his own answer. Mitchell rolled his eyes but on the inside he relaxed. Humour was Anders’ coping mechanism and it was good to see that it was in place and doing its job.

“My muscles and my entire body hurt like a bitch but it’s the dull kind of pain. You can’t really do anything about it,” Anders added, just serious enough that Mitchell actually believed him, “Sadly, we’ll have to go without mind-blowing sex until that has sorted itself out. For the time being I’ll just chuck down painkillers, stare at you longingly and make you spoil me.”

Mitchell smiled at the example of longing stares Anders gave him.

“Sounds like a plan.” He stroked through Anders’ beard, prompting him to lean into the touch like a purring kitten.

“What about you?” the blond asked and nipped playfully at his fingers.

“I’m okay. Sore but nearly back to normal. Thanks to your blood.” Mitchell’s smile faltered. “Listen, Anders, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken it.”

Anders looked at him openly. “Don’t be sorry. It was the right decision.”

 _Maybe. But we can’t claim that every time._ The fight had been a decent reason, yes, but they needed to stop now. For real. Mitchell knew all too well how easy apologies came once he craved the stuff and the last shred of shame was gone. And he needed Anders to be there with him.

“I won’t drink from you again,” Mitchell said seriously, “That still stands. I’m back on human blood only and that’s how I’ll manage…”

Like the other night at the pub, that had been okay. Given enough human blood the temptation of godly blood should be easy to control.

“..and you don’t have to hunt with me, I’ll keep you as far away from all that as possible,” he continued, his voice carrying more desperation than he had anticipated, “I don’t know what I was thinking, dragging you to the pub, it was all so fucked up… you choosing someone…. And I promise you I won’t kill anyone, I’ll control it so you won’t have to come with me anymore… and now… last night was an emergency but…”

The sentences spilled over Mitchell’s lips in quick succession and he didn’t know whether he wanted to assure Anders or himself.

“Mitchell…” Anders said tenderly, grasping his fingers and stopping his torrent of words “calm down. I said it was fine and I mean it. We’ll figure that entire hunting-and-blood thing out soon, okay? But for now, we need you to be in shape.”

Surprised, the Irishman drew his brows together. “What for?”

“Like you said, remember? I talk and you fight.”

“Anders…” he said apprehensively, “what’s wrong, what do you mean?”

An uneasy feeling made itself at home in Mitchell’s stomach at Anders’ sudden change of topic. That conversation did have quite a different context as he remembered. And besides, bringing it up now was strange – they had crossed off their fair share of fighting. What came next didn’t require fangs and also Bragi wasn’t needed…

“It’s just…” Anders wetted his lips, “we don’t know if Ivan will agree, do we? So it’s well possible that after today we’re all but a pile of ash.”

 _No. Nonono_. Mitchell stared at Anders with wide eyes, taking in his shy but hopeless smile. They wouldn’t go down that road, not now that they were so close to completing the deal.

“Ivan wouldn’t attack Axl.” Mitchell’s voice was firm.

“You don’t know that,” Anders said quietly. “You’re even, remember? There’s nothing keeping him from just taking what he wanted to begin with.”

“No… he wouldn’t do that.” Mitchell shook his head. “He can be reasoned with and the deal isn’t a bad choice for him.”

“It’s not great either. We don’t even have anything to sweeten the deal for him,” Anders pointed out gently.

 _Ivan wouldn’t do this_. Mitchell clung to the words with fervour. Worst case scenario: he asked something more from the Johnsons, putting some sort of condition in the contract that gives him an advantage in a situation of crisis. But going through with… no. Ivan wouldn’t do that. Not to him. Not now that he knew how important Anders was to him. He wouldn’t accept that argument once and then disregard it entirely the next day, would he? With Axl so close to him, handed to him on the proverbial silver platter…

A small voice interrupted his thoughts. “Mitchell, what if he just… kills him. Kills us.”

“He won’t.” Mitchell’s voice was thick with emotion. “I won’t let him.”

A broken smile appeared on Anders face. “Which is why we need you fit for action.”

“I mean it, Anders,” the brunet looked at him intensely, “Don’t say that. You are not dying today. Not on my watch.”

Anders played with Mitchell’s chest hair absently-minded and avoided his eyes. “You can’t promise that.”

“I’ll make damn sure.”

“I don’t want to leave,” Anders said quietly as if he hadn’t heard Mitchell’s comment, “Especially not now…”

His voice trailed off and Mitchell’s heart felt like bursting.

“And you won’t,” he said, steel and warmth somehow coexisting in his voice, “You’ll stay here. With me.”

He wrapped his arms a little tighter around his lover, pulling him closer to convince Anders and himself of his words. _This_ was important. Forget godly powers and vampire elite ideas – none of that mattered to Mitchell anymore as he pressed a kiss on Anders’ forehead. Anders offered only the tiniest of nods against the Irishman’s chest.

“Thank you,” he whispered so quietly that Mitchell almost didn’t catch it.

 

* * * * * *

 

They remained like this for a long time, first clinging to each other and then, when the warmth and proximity finally relaxed them, holding each other close. Careful strokes and soft kisses unwound tense muscles, whispered words calmed them down and kept their fears at bay.

“Come on,” Mitchell finally moved to get up, his fingers interlacing with Anders’, “Let’s have a shower. We need something just for ourselves right now. And you said something about me fussing over you…”

Anders smiled and let himself be guided off the bed by Mitchell’s gentle traction.

The brunet saw how his lover grimaced in pain at the first steps, reminding him how hurt he still was. He gently pulled Anders into the bathroom and started to undress him slowly, carefully. The blond let it happen, a faint but honest smile on his lips. Parts of his stomach had taken on a bruised colour where his attacker had landed a good punch but Mitchell was relieved to see that he wasn’t visibly hurt otherwise. He peeled the last bit of clothing off the Anders’ body and turned on the water, letting it run to heat up while he discarded his boxers. Soon, steam rose from the shower. Mitchell tested the water, stepped into the shower while taking Anders’ hand and pulling him with. Anders followed his lead without complaint, breathing in sharply under the initial heat of the water but soon relaxed. With nimble fingers Mitchell lathered Anders’ skin, washing and caressing him, following the trails of water down his body. Under his hands Anders sighed and hummed as his eyes fell half-close and he let Mitchell take care of him. When the Irishman wrapped his arms around him Anders sneaked his fingers into Mitchell's neck and wove them between the strands of his soaked curls, working shampoo into the thick mane. Mitchell caught Anders’ lips in a soft kiss as the water washed the soap away. His right ran down to the small of the blond’s back, travelling over his shapely arse and Mitchell could feel Anders harden as he rubbed slowly against him.

Leaving Anders' lips Mitchell kissed down his the side of his neck and nuzzled the point where it met the shoulder. Anders leaned his head back a little more to bare his throat and Mitchell moved along the collar bone to suck the drops of water that caught in the hollow of his throat. Anders’ pulse was accelerating under Mitchell's tongue but before the monster in him could pick up on it he moved on, kissing a trail halfway down the blond’s chest while joining the movements of his hips.

A gentle lick over Anders' right nipple and a teasing nip made him arch into the Irishman with a soft moan. Mitchell trailed his tongue around the hard nipple, sucking lightly and scraping his stubbly jaw over the surrounding area. A few of his wet curls clung to Anders’ rosy skin. Following the trail of curly chest hair with his mouth Mitchell wrapped the fingers of his right around Anders' length and started to pump slowly. Anders’ hand rested on the inside of his forearm, fingers trailing over the veins and sinews as he followed Mitchell’s movement. With every touch Anders' cock hardened further and soon, his hips were rolling into Mitchell's strokes. The brunet’s mouth never left the soft skin as he knelt down, one hand continuing to work Anders' erection while the other stroked over his thigh, moving upwards. Mitchell sucked on Anders' hip bone, following the curve the water took and moved his mouth lower, over hard muscles tinted with soft hair. His wet kisses mixed with the water splashing down.

Mitchell kept up the movements of his hand and sucked the tip of Anders' cock into his mouth, massaging his skin with his lips. A little moan reached his ears. Anders' hand found its way into his curls as Mitchell's tongue swirled around the wet head slowly. The blond was rock hard by now, his cock hot and heavy on Mitchell’s tongue, and under his left he could feel the muscles in Anders’ thigh tense.He licked over the tip and sucked a little harder, his scalp tingling from the suddenly tight grip Anders grasped his hair in. Stroking over the erection with his right Mitchell’s hand moved lower to softly fondle Anders’ testicles while he concentrated on exploring the head with his tongue. He was taking his time and teasing gently, waiting for the blond’s breathing to take on that husky sound that told him all he needed to know.

Anders’ broad chest started to heave, the hand in Mitchell’s hair moving unfocussed as he licked over the tip. The Irishman dipped into the slit and the blond gasped at the sudden sensation, his hips jerking forward. Mitchell followed his movement, taking him as deep into his mouth as he could while his fingers stroked around the base. The faint smell of body wash lingered but Mitchell still tasted the heady flavour of Anders underneath. It hit his senses with every move and made his own cock stir, drawing a moan from him that prompted Anders to gasp as it vibrated against his length. Mitchell brushed over the god’s arse and up to his hipbone where he put his hand on the side to keep him in place. The pull on his hair loosened as Anders’ fingers touched his, rubbing distractedly over his hand as he tried to keep his hips from bucking. Mitchell sped up the slow pace he had started with, coaxing a sting of barely audible moans from those pouty lips. He moved his mouth along Anders’ slick cock, his tongue dragging flat over the underside with every bob of his head. His lover was getting close, but Mitchell didn’t want to make him come just yet.

The brunet pulled back slowly but made up for the loss of speed by licking and sucking harder. His tongue teased, flicking lightly against the skin and Mitchell looked up past the well-defined stomach and the furry chest to meet his lover’s eyes. His pupils were blown wide by lust, blue nearly swallowed entirely by black as he stared at the Irishman kneeling before him. Inch by inch Anders’ cock left Mitchell’s mouth until only the tip parted his full lips. Mitchell could tell when the sensation of the water trickling down on his exposed and sensitive erection hit Anders. The blond drew in a sharp breath and his jaw went slack, eye lids fluttering shut at the feeling. His fingers on the brunet’s hand dug into the skin while his left darted out to steady himself on the shower wall.

"Mitchell…" Anders groaned and slid his right from Mitchell’s fingers over his arms and throat to his jaw while the Irishman swirled his tongue around the head once more. The blond's hips started to jerk again at the combination of Mitchell’s skilled tongue and the water hitting his skin, involuntary sounds making their way into the open. The brunet relaxed his throat, adjusted to his movements and swallowed Anders' erection almost fully. A choked gasp left Anders’ lips as his eyes darted open again and he stared into Mitchell’s eyes. Pleasure was plainly visible on the blond’s face, and the knowledge that it was _him_ who made the god shiver and pant only made the Irishman work him harder. Anders’ fingers carded through Mitchell’s stubble and outlined the lower lip, firmly wrapped around his cock. Moving in time with Anders' shallow thrusts Mitchell sucked deep, water and saliva running down his chin as he grabbed the blond's arse to guide him. Anders’ movements became messier by the second, his cock twitched in Mitchell’s mouth and with the next move of the curly head he came, spilling hotly down the Irishman’s throat. Anders groaned and gasped, sounds running into each other as Mitchell swallowed and sucked through his orgasm. His name from Anders’ lips bounced off the shower walls as the blond’s fingers moved into his neck and pulled at his hair. Anders’ chest was heaving in heavy breaths, his eyes still fixed on Mitchell.

“C’mere,” he drawled and pulled Mitchell to his feet with unsteady hands only to collapse into his arms a moment later. The vampire could hear Anders’ heart thumping hard in his chest when he wrapped his arms around him. Anders’ breath gushed over his throat and Mitchell felt his nails scrape lightly over his back as the blond slowly started to come down. Mitchell softly kissed along his jaw, sucking drops of water from the wet facial hair, and ran his hand through Anders’ hair. The god’s lips found his in a gentle kiss.

“Mitchell, I…” he whispered against his lips but the brunet silenced him with another soft kiss. Whatever Anders wanted to say shouldn’t be voiced because of an impending feeling of danger or because he felt it would be his last chance. No, they would live to fight another day and on until everything was taken care of. Until the contract was signed and they were safe again. Anders looked at him, nodded with a faint smile and Mitchell pulled him close again, letting the warm water rain down on them for another while.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Negotiation Pt 1.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so that took a long time. If you're still around: sorry for the late update. This chapter was bloody difficult to write and I'm somewhat glad to see the back of it... ^^ many characters, lots of politics and additionally the mythology in TAJ is frustratingly ill-thought through so I made up a few things.  
> I hope it turned out okay and you enjoy it! Thanks for reading x

Anders had been quiet from the moment they had stepped through the door of his apartment. All earlier relaxation seemed forgotten as if the morning had been an illusion after all, giving way to a bleak early afternoon. Every soothing gesture from Mitchell had only been acknowledged with a smile that looked so broken to the Irishman that he had stopped altogether. He couldn’t bear seeing the hopelessness on his lover’s face.

“Ivan won’t hurt you,” Mitchell stated quietly as Anders pulled up the car at the edge of the forest, parking behind his brother’s cars.

“I hope so,” Anders stared ahead, killing the engine. He sighed and leaned back into his seat.

Encouraged, Mitchell took Anders’ hand in his, for once not half-covered with a glove, and slightly pressed it. “This is an official meeting. He’ll behave accordingly.”

“I know,” Anders squeezed his eyes shut a moment, returning Mitchell’s grasp finally. “Still I’ll keep to the background I think.”

The Irishman nodded. “Axl will handle this. It’ll be fine.”

“You really believe that?” Anders opened his eyes and turned to Mitchell.

 _Good question._ Mitchell hesitated. The last part was a platitude, of course – Anders knew that as well as him and it had just spilled over his lips for lack of a better reassurance. What was there to say, though? This play had to be performed and Mitchell was aware that he couldn’t do anything to change the outcome right about now. A feeling of calm before the storm.

The Irishman shook his head. “No. ’Fine’ is too easy a concept when none of this is anywhere near easy. But I know we’ll make it through somehow, belief be damned.”

Anders threw a look through the windshield to check for his brothers and pressed a kiss on Mitchell’s lips, quick and cautious. A smile that wasn’t as sad anymore twisted his mouth before he opened the car door and stepped outside, followed by Mitchell.

The other Johnsons were standing a few metres away from their cars, talking in hushed voices among themselves. When Mitchell and Anders arrived, a muffled hello was given. Olaf nodded at them and adjusted the satchel whose strap cut into his chest. Ty and Axl made an effort to smile at them whereas Mike only threw Mitchell a wary look, scanning his face for the bruises that had been there just yesterday. His expression hardened when he realised that Mitchell looked a lot healthier than Anders but he kept quiet about it.

“You’ll take care of the introductions,” Mike said gruffly and nodded at the Irishman.

“Would that be alright for you?” Olaf asked to soften Mike’s words, looking at Mitchell with a smile. “You know him best and we don’t want to alienate him right away.”

Mitchell nodded. “Alright.”

The group of gods set to walk behind Mitchell in a strange procession. Anders caught up with him and they marched on until they reached a clearing, surrounded by trees whose leaves had mostly fallen off, covering the ground.

Ivan stood in the middle of the clearing, impeccably dressed like always in a dark suit and with an air of general aloofness about him. He was alone – Mitchell quickly checked the surrounding area for signs of Daisy but neither she nor any of Ivan’s henchmen were to be seen. The Irishman wasn’t sure whether this was a good sign. This meeting would feel very different if Daisy was hiding somewhere in case support was needed. Or Ivan had deliberately insisted that Daisy didn’t attend because he had considered it too dangerous. None of the options left a particularly calming taste in Mitchell’s mouth.

“Hello Mitchell.” A fine smile played around Ivan’s lips. “You look well.”

Anders had covered up his strangulation marks with a light scarf and his shirt and suit jacket didn’t give away the bite on his wrist. Still he adjusted the scarf when Ivan shortly glanced at him, a gesture of defence that tugged at Mitchell’s heartstrings. He cleared his throat.

“Ivan.” Mitchell bowed his head lightly by way of greeting, indicating respect and glossing over the snide remark.

“Daisy sends her apologies,” Ivan said to him, “She highly regrets not meeting Odin but she had other business to attend to. Speaking of which – why this gathering of gods? I thought it would be a small council sort of thing.”

“They are family to Axl.”

“Should I have brought back-up, too?” A suspicious undertone had crept into his voice.

“No, Ivan, it’s fine, I promise,” Mitchell hastened to say.

If Ivan was under the impression that they had made sure to be more in numbers he might become dangerous. Well, more dangerous than he usually was. Mitchell had hunted long enough with him to know that it was a bad idea to corner him.

“It’s not back-up. We… they all worked on the deal and everyone here is affected by it.”

Ivan considered his words. “I’m sure there are more gods than only this lot?”

“Yes,” Mitchell nodded, careful to keep his voice calm and measured to disperse any doubt Ivan might have, “But they are not important for the task at hand. As you rightly pointed out: if Odin dies, the Johnsons die. Other gods aren’t affected by Odin’s lifespan and only gain their powers if Odin and Frigg are reunited. You’ll be discussing with Axl and Olaf, being an oracle, will be the official authority.”

“Alright then.” Ivan had returned to smiling faintly but Mitchell could tell that he wasn’t entirely convinced. The small crease on his forehead was still there – a sure sign that his guard was up. Even if the Johnsons didn’t know him well enough to read those signs they surely felt that their discussion partner was not going to be in a relaxed mood. With his eyes narrowing ever so slightly Ivan took in the family as Mitchell introduced them, respectfully moving aside after indicating Olaf.

The oracle nodded at Mitchell and took a step forward. “I am the oldest of this family and I shall be the official on this meeting. The reason we meet today is to discuss and sign a treaty between our two kinds, namely vampires and Norse gods. The presence of an authority on both sides is required. Representing the vampires is Ivan, the gods are represented by Odin. As defined by law Odin is to bring the sword as a sign of legitimisation.”

On cue Axl stepped forward and lifted his right to present the sword, wrapped in dark brown fabric. He folded back the cloth to reveal the weapon which shone brightly despite the overcast sky. A slow, measured nod from Ivan and Olaf and the youngest Johnson placed the fabric back over the metal. He handed it over to Ty for safekeeping and returned back to his place as Olaf went on.

“Before the negotiations start a circle of stones will be laid around everyone involved. As soon as the last stone is in place and the partakers are thereby named, the negotiations can begin. But they also serve a second purpose: during the discussion none of the people inside the circle are allowed to step outside. They are bound by law to stay until an agreement is found and put down in writing. The circle cannot be broken from the outside. Anyone who breaks the circle from the inside will die.”

“Die?” Axl asked with a shocked expression on his face.

“Well, it translates to ‘be eternally damned whilst birds feast upon your bloated flesh’ but yes, essentially.”

Ivan nodded in Mitchell’s direction. “Shouldn’t Mitchell be outside the circle?”

“I’m part of this,” he answered sternly. The idea of being trapped in a bloody circle with gods and Ivan on threat of dying wasn’t exactly appealing but he wouldn’t be put on the sidelines. If something happened he wanted to be there, to be able to react to it.

“Yes, you are,” Ivan conceded, “But you are also the only one here who is not sticking to either side but continues to skirt around a decision.”

 _So that’s what you want to know._ Mitchell looked Ivan square in the eyes. “That’s where you’re wrong. I have made my decision.”

For a moment the two vampires stared at each other while the Johnsons stayed quiet at this demonstration of allegiance; especially Anders stayed as still as possible, not meeting anyone’s eye but focussed entirely on Mitchell.

“Very well,” Ivan said finally and nodded at Mitchell. His eyes remained cold but the Irishman saw a hint of respect in the way Ivan looked at him. That was it, Mitchell thought, that was his final ending with Ivan. The Old One had accepted his decision and they were on opposite sides now. No hard feelings over old feuds – their debts were settled as he had said. Clean slate.

A last look at Mitchell and Ivan turned to Olaf. “Go on.”

“Every party has the chance to give an opening statement. After that, the respective representatives have to find an agreement and put it down on this parchment.”

The oracle reached into the satchel that was slung around his torso and presented a piece of parchment that looked old to Mitchell. The brownish paper seemed crisp as if it had been dragged through water and dried in the sun. At least it wasn’t human skin, he thought with a sense of grim humour. At this stage that possibility didn’t seem too far-fetched either and he had heard stories about vampire lore being inscribed onto skin parchments.

“Once everything is written down and agreed upon I collect the parchment and seal it with a ribbon brought by each party, making the contract binding. Any questions?”

Olaf looked around to meet everyone’s eyes as they shook their heads in accordance. The rules seemed to be new information to Anders, Ty and Axl – they all had a concentrated look on their faces, listening closely to the oracle’s words as not to miss vital information. Mike simply nodded and waited while Ivan also indicated his understanding with a gesture of familiarity. For a moment Mitchell wondered what his former mentor knew apart from the things he had told him. He had figured that just by being an Old One Ivan obviously had more responsibilities and understanding about the way of the vampire-world but this tiny knowledgeable shake of his head left Mitchell astonished. Ivan had never mentioned that he had ever taken part in any kind of negotiation with another supernatural kind but then again, Mitchell hadn’t asked. Their time had mostly been spent hunting and, well… that chapter of his life was over for a long time and whichever wisdom Ivan held it was irretrievably inaccessible to him now.

“Good,” Olaf nodded, “then Mike will start with the circle.”

Mike accepted the satchel from Olaf and started to walk around them in measured steps, putting down stone after stone.

**Thud.**

None of them looked at Mike as the dull noise of the first stone hitting the forest floor sounded in the silence. All Johnsons had acquired a strong stance that was just that little too self-assured to convince Mitchell entirely – he knew what covered-up apprehension looked like. Axl couldn’t stop clenching and unclenching his right fist and Ty’s fingers drummed a silent pattern on his thigh.

**Thud.**

Mitchell threw Anders a quick look. He seemed tired still but held himself upright, not giving away the uncertainty that surely haunted him. Mitchell hadn’t forgotten their discussion earlier this morning, the vulnerability Anders had shown and his promise to keep him alive, no matter what. The Irishman had so much to make up for whether Anders realised or not and he intended to live up to his word. Anders met his eyes with a faint smile before fixing his gaze on Ivan again.

**Thud.**

Mike was on a level with Ivan as he placed the next stone. The Old One eyed him warily, hands casually shoved into his slacks. Even though Ivan seemed to be the most calm of all of them Mitchell noticed the little signs. The look through narrowed eyes appeared bored on the surface but the thin lips were pressed together firmly, tongue doubtlessly rubbing over the spot that hid his fangs. Ivan watched Mike until he was well in his back, then shifted his weight. With every stone Ivan grew tenser, hints invisible to the others but reminding Mitchell of a caged animal.

**Thud.**

The slowness with which the stone circle was laid out began to tear at Mitchell’s nerves – this ritual imprisonment didn’t only affect Ivan’s nature but also his own. If it came to an attack none of them could make it outside the circle alive. He had to act quickly to protect Anders and Axl while everyone else hopefully sat tight. Despite himself Mitchell took in every detail the limited space had to offer. A fight with Ivan wasn’t something he wanted to have on his hands but if the others decided to jump in between them things could get ugly.

**Thud.**

Mike put one stone next to Mitchell as Ivan looked at him, unsmiling. It wasn’t a threat as such but Mitchell stared back, making an effort to ban the uneasy emotion from showing on his face. Ivan didn’t need to know how the Irishman felt and as long as he looked at Mitchell, he let go of scrutinising Anders.

**Thud.**

Mike arrived back at the spot he had started from and stepped inside the circle. With the same efficient solemnity he had shown before he put the last stone in place.

**Thud.**

No one spoke for the moment the dull sound hung in the air between them. Even Ty had stopped his nervous drumming.

Finally, Axl took a step forward and cleared his throat. “Our two kinds are very different. We don’t have much in common which also means that we do not compete in our strivings. The separate societies we have lived in long before this meeting are aware of each other but live neither connected in friendship nor divided by war.”

His voice sounded strange in this formal register but with every word it gained volume and steadiness. _Good_. Ivan respected backbone in people and if Axl continued like this it would give the meeting a more stable feeling. The sense of confinement wouldn’t disappear but Mitchell slowly relaxed when Axl went on in a determined tone.

“The latest developments, however, have prompted a feud between us that is not acceptable. I say that we go back to the way it has been before your attack on us. We let it slide and continue to live separately.”

The Old One carefully listened to Axl and with something akin to relief Mitchell saw respect in his expression. Axl was doing alright, even under Ivan’s gaze he didn’t squirm but stood firmly. They had briefly talked about strategy, back in Dawn’s living room, and agreed that Axl should not mention the fact that Ivan had tried to kill him and his brother right away.

Ivan took his hands from his pockets and started to speak, words accompanied by short but precise gestures.

“Indeed what we have here is a new situation. This feud hasn’t occurred in the last two centuries. But that is due to the circumstance that never before the Norse gods have been so close to finding Frigg.”

Two centuries, Mitchell thought, which explained why he hadn’t heard about it. After his turning Ivan had talked to him of vampire lore but it had been restricted to stories about their kind, werewolves, and ghosts. Even when Ivan had recruited him to kill Odin he hadn’t given out this information. Whatever had happened was either not important or the Old One considered it as sensitive knowledge. Knowing Ivan, the latter was more realistic though. There was no way of knowing what he had up his sleeve and Mitchell wondered how they had ‘taken care’ of the situation last time.

Ivan walked up and down two steps, voice measured and sophisticated. “You talk of tolerance but how do you suppose we could be sure in the long run? Once you gain access to your full powers this balance that we have lived in for long now will be upset. The scales are tipped to your advantage and what you proclaim to be tolerance will soon look like pity.”

 _Same old story_. Mitchell nearly laughed humourlessly at Ivan’s words. Vampires and their irrational fear of being left behind.

“And do you suppose you could avoid that by killing me?” Axl asked sharply.

“It occurred to me, yes,” Ivan didn’t react to the tone Axl used and talked in a somewhat careless voice, “Granted, it’s not a final solution but at least we’d have another century or so of peace and quiet.”

“Well, what I propose can be a final solution without bloodshed.”

Ivan lifted one eyebrow in interest and nodded for Axl to go on. If Axl sold their idea properly they’d get out of this bloody circle soon.

“I propose that your society will not be harmed by us gods,” Axl said in a firm voice, “Even when we have full powers at our disposal we will not use them to do your kind any harm whatsoever. We won’t interfere in your business, whatever that may be. In return we ask of you to do the same for us.”

Ivan considered his words. ”Parallel societies, regardless of the outcome of your search.”

“Exactly,” Axl nodded and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

 _Come on, Ivan. Agree._ Nervously, Mitchell shifted his weight from one leg to the other. Ivan had to see that it wasn’t a bad option for him. No one would take anything away from him and the fact remained that he wasn’t interested in world domination to begin with. At least Mitchell hoped that this hadn’t changed over the last day. He and Daisy had had as much time to come up with a plan as they – with the difference that they weren’t injured and generally had access to more information. The Irishman looked around once more to check whether Daisy was lurking somewhere, carrying out whatever they had planned. He wouldn’t put it past them to fashion a trap beside the circle they were all standing in. The forest seemed quiet though, no suspicious hushing among the trees or the flattering fabric of Daisy’s eternal summer dress.

“One thing remains, though,” Ivan stated, “You’ll still have the power to shape the world according to your taste. What if we don’t like it?”

Axl didn’t budge. “Well… so far we didn’t run into each other.”

“Who knows how your objectives might change.” Ivan didn’t miss a beat with his answer and Mitchell saw Axl’s face fall.

 _Shit_.

“Uhm…” the youngest Johnsons stuttered, “As I said, we won’t do anything that might be considered…” He couldn’t finish his sentence before Ivan interrupted him coolly.

“There are more ways to harm someone than just attacking openly.”

 _And Ivan knows more of those than you care to know_. Mitchell sincerely hoped that Axl wouldn’t be impressed by Ivan’s superior tone and offered him a satisfying answer. A chink in the armour and the Old One would use it without hesitation, twisting every word to come out on top.

“It’s not our interest at all to harm you.” Axl only reiterated what he had said before but at least his voice had gained strength again.

Ivan shook his head with a little laugh. “If you start messing with the world without attacking us are we to sit back and just watch? Because you consider it ‘your business’?”

Wetting his lips Axl stared on, searching for an answer. _Fuck_. This was getting out of hand far too fast. Ivan was raising questions they hadn’t considered in the short amount of time they had had to prepare for this.

The other Johnsons fixed their gaze on Axl, all showing a different level of worry. Ty looked paler than ever. Next to him, Mike’s expression had grown tense. Anders swallowed hectically, surely trying to keep Bragi at bay, and even Olaf’s easy stance had become rigid.

“What if we want our share?” Ivan went on, clearly aware that he had found a moot point, “If you decide on a new world order where do we come in?”

Before Axl had the chance to answer this question, Mike stepped forward. “Obviously we cannot tell you what will happen because, unlikely as it may sound, we don’t even know.”

His annoyance rolled off Ivan. “Mhm. That seems awfully vague,” he said smugly.

This wasn’t good at all. Mitchell felt his muscles tense instinctively. Ivan took pleasure in seeing the Johnsons floundering and the more time passed the less likely it was that the Old One respected what Axl suggested. _Say something. Offer him something_.

To Mitchell’s surprise Ty spoke up. “So it is. Listen, I know you don’t believe us but we’re not after world domination or some such thing.”

“A man’s word tends to change with the acquiring of power and I will not have you play havoc with the world.”

 _Yeah, Ivan the Guardian_. _How fucking noble_. Mitchell scoffed before he could stop himself. “Don’t act like you’re so concerned about the world at large, Ivan.”

Cold eyes focussed on him once more with a curious expression and that fine smile was back playing around Ivan’s mouth. Mitchell kept his arms close to his sides, automatically acquiring a pose that would give him the possibility to lunge forward if necessary.

“I’m not, Mitchell, and I don’t pretend to be,” Ivan sized him up and countered his stance with a shrug, “But we exist in this world too, after all. In fact, our kind will be affected a whole lot longer than the average inhabitant.”

The Johnsons remained silent. Mitchell continued to meet Ivan’s eyes, now as his opponent and left wondering if ‘our kind’ included him still.

“But it’s all a guessing game, isn’t it?” Ivan went on, “Neither we nor you know what will happen when you find Frigg. Additionally, you cannot control all gods as I cannot keep an eye on every vampire to make sure that everyone sticks to their own business. Every action on a society level afterwards will have to be brought before a court that is not yet in place and that’s just unnecessary paperwork. We talk about a world that we cannot grasp yet. Why don’t we start small with a proposition that we can actually fulfil right now. I ensure that no one will harm your family. But Frigg is fair game.”

“No.” Axl’s answer came quick and strong.

“No?” Ivan repeated with a serious look.

“That isn’t an option for us.”

The Old One took a step towards Axl. Mitchell moved instinctively so that he shielded Anders to his left and was but a jump away from Axl. He wouldn’t attack out of the blue but if Ivan made a wrong move Mitchell would make sure he regretted it – regardless how it ended for himself.

Ivan didn’t acknowledge Mitchell at all even thought the Irishman was sure that his strategic positioning didn’t go unnoticed.

“It’s obvious we want different things,” Ivan continued to talk to Axl and remained standing where he was, “but let me reiterate just in case you didn’t understand correctly: I am willing to let you and thereby your family live if the hunt for Frigg is a universal one. You can’t have both.”

Irritation crept into Axl’s expression. “It’s not a hunt.”

“Well, you gather information and try to track her down…” Ivan pointed out casually, “that’s a hunt in my book.”

Axl huffed. “You’re turning her into an object, talking about her like that.”

“And how is that different from you?” Ivan shot back.

The youngest Johnson shook his head. “We can’t make her fair game. She wouldn’t even know vampires are looking for her.”

“She’ll find out soon enough,” Ivan said blandly. “And please consider that she also doesn’t know you’re after her. Making this, essentially, a hunt.”

Mike lifted his hands in an appeasing gesture. “Why don’t we leave the semantics for now? What Axl is saying is that we won’t agree to endanger Frigg.”

Ivan turned to Mike. “I take no personal issue with you. What I’m concerned about is simply you acquiring your powers. If Frigg is fair game we’re each left with a decent chance to find her. Our problem sorts itself out.”

“We can’t have her potentially killed by you,” Axl insisted.

“It would put an end to your quest.”

“Not forever. She will be reincarnated and we find ourselves in the same situation again soon.”

“It might take years and years for it to come to this again,” Ivan said.

“Doesn’t matter. History will repeat itself. You’re not killing Frigg. You’re killing an innocent woman.”

Mitchell had watched the exchange silently. Axl’s humanity and Ivan’s way of seeing the world in shades of red wouldn’t come to an agreement and strange as it felt Mitchell could understand both arguments – regardless of his own opinion. He addressed the Old One firmly, trying to steer clear of the clashing convictions.

“Ivan, I know which doom you see but as you said before we don’t know what will happen when they really find Frigg. It’s well possible that they sort of… vanish. That they leave their vessels and ascend to Asgard or something.”

As he said those words Mitchell realised that he and Anders hadn’t actually talked about what would happen if they found Frigg. If Bragi left Anders how much of him would remain? Which part of what he knew about his lover was Bragi and which the ‘real’ Anders? The possibility that Anders wouldn’t recognise him anymore was one he pushed as far away from his mind as possible.

“I’m not taking chances, Mitchell,” Ivan said in a parody of his words when they had last met.

“But you also cannot keep killing off gods,” the Irishman said loudly, his voice acquiring a growl, “The headlines have been full of your henchmen’s killings lately and it’s only a matter of time until one of those halfwits fucks up royally.”

For the first time in this discussion, Anders spoke up. “We can probably tackle this another way.”

Mitchell looked at him in surprise. The blond didn’t use Bragi but still he sounded confident and calm – a stark contrast to the two vampires.

“I suggest transparency. As soon as we find Frigg you will know, Ivan. We put it in the contract. We find her and new negotiations are called.”

Mitchell calmed down far enough to see that this possibility would definitely keep Ivan’s fear of being left out at bay. Yet the Old One shook his head.

“The only thing that changes is the fact that we’re one step closer to the end of your quest. We won’t have further information as to the how and what. Also, you might just get on with it and refuse to negotiate again. I won’t be held out with a notification.” A pointed pause. “I demand a paragraph that states that you cannot complete the ritual without a vampire as representative being present.”

Ivan’s suggestion was met with silence as everyone looked on, trying to estimate the repercussions such an agreement would have. Frigg would survive, Mitchell thought, and he was a vampire, so…

“Not any vampire, though. It needs to be an Old One. If you attempt to acquire your powers without one of the Old Ones there will be a victim. Namely either Frigg or Odin.”

Mitchell could almost feel the Johnsons trying to come up with a plan or a counter argument. He should’ve known that Ivan would pull such a nasty stunt. He should’ve thought those things through a lot better than he had. Of course time had been scarce but the gods had trusted his assessment of Ivan and here they were, at loss for words and about to be forced into a contract that would set off a series of political implications.

Three quick but dull knocks against the side of a tree made all of them look outside the circle.

“Greetings,” Colin said smugly, “Did my party invitation get lost in the post?”

 

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Negotiation Pt 2.  
> Things are looking pretty grim with Colin thrown into the mix...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the late update... again. The dialogue was done for ages until the muse came by to fill in the blanks. Hope you enjoy it!

Anders’ eyes grew wide as the dull sound of his knocking against the tree slowly receded. Colin. Loki. Dressed in shades of red he stood there, leaning against the tree and grinning broadly at the assembly inside the circle.

For a moment, Anders drew a blank and all he could tell was that his family members tensed instinctively while their minds tried to come up with a reaction to Colin’s sudden appearance.

Anders’ head started to spin as his mind kicked into gear with a start, heart beating painfully in his chest when it hit him: Colin was here because of the blank cheque. The damn favour Anders owed him. _Not now. Please._ They were so close to sealing the deal and now of all possible moments Colin had to arrive? Anders’ temple was throbbing, his battered body reacting badly to the sudden stress.

A smug smile on his lips Colin sauntered over to the stone circle, casually hooking his thumb in the pocket of his red waistcoat. Next to Anders Mitchell shifted ever so carefully, shielding him from Colin now instead of Ivan.

 _It doesn’t matter. He’s outside the circle_. And from there he would start his show. Not even Mitchell’s strength could change the fact that Colin certainly had a plan. Anders’ thoughts were racing as he tried to remember what they had told Colin, what exactly he knew and whether it was possible that he had an idea about the kind of situation they were in right now – and the implications this brought with it. Anders throat grew tight at Colin’s casual demeanour. He seemed in his element and speaking from experience that element always carried a nasty surprise. Whatever Colin asked of him Anders had to agree; not even his vague terms about family, Dawn and Mitchell would be accepted now that he was confined to this magic circle while Colin had the whole world at his disposal.

Farther to his side Anders felt Mike stir, finally, but before he or any of the others could recover from their speechlessness, Ivan took two steps to the side of the circle.

“Who are you?” Ivan asked, his brows furrowed and his expression showing confusion.

Anders nearly laughed out loudly – it was an honest question and unlike all of them Ivan had never met Colin but it seemed just so absurd that this was the answer to Loki’s grand entrance.

Colin, however, didn’t seem irritated by the question at all and smiled brightly at Ivan. “Who indeed…”

“Colin…” Ty exclaimed, the two syllables carrying a mixture of surprise and anger.

Colin clicked his fingers and gestured dismissively at Ty only to face Ivan directly. “That’s what the mortals call me. And you are Ivan, one of the ever evasive and perpetually glorified Old Ones?”

“Colin, what are you doing here?” Mike asked, trying in vain to stare Colin down.

Olaf was the calmest of them all as he added, “This is an official meeting. Please leave.”

The oracle still clutched the parchment in his hand, rolled up and unbound. None of their carefully approached resolutions was put down in writing yet, not even their insistence that Frigg was to be protected – and as things looked right now Anders had the uneasy feeling of being even more confined. They couldn’t leave the circle without an agreement and if Colin managed to get either Axl or Ivan to crack and dart out they’d be stuck in here forever. _Until an agreement is found_ , Olaf had said and with one party dead an agreement was pretty damn hard to find.

“The question is not what I’m doing here,” Colin answered, entirely disregarding Olaf’s words, “but rather what you are up to. Looks like one hell of a gathering.”

Ivan raised one eyebrow, answering coolly, “We’re in the middle of a negotiation so if you don’t mind…”

“I do mind. Terribly so, in fact,” Colin interrupted him which gained him a stern stare from Ivan he pretended not to notice, “I feel left out of your party, like the third wheel. The one without a date to screw afterwards and I think we all know that this is unlike me. Well, I was part of this before yesterday but now…”

 _Shut up_. Anders’ pulse sped up as Colin shrugged and looked around the circle. That bloody bastard. If Ivan found out that Colin’s initial mission had been to kill him their negotiation was done for. And if Colin let slip that he, Anders, had given the order Ivan would surely attack. The only question remained was who his victim would be – Anders or Odin himself to be done with it once and for all. Ivan seemed uneasy as it was and in the way he mirrored Colin’s movements Anders could see that he tried to assess the new player in this game. But if this went awry and Ivan found out… not even Mitchell could shield them then. The Irishman had said nothing so far but Anders felt his tension almost physically as Mitchell kept his eyes fixed on Colin.

Colin’s sentence hung in the air and with every passing second Anders became more edgy. No, he couldn’t just let Loki sabotage everything to his liking. He was likely the reason Colin was here so maybe he could make him leave.

Anders cleared his throat and looked the lawyer square in the eyes. “Colin… we have an agreement.”

Colin nodded. “That’s right, Anders. One of the reasons I’m here.”

This wasn’t good at all. Anders shifted his weight nervously in anticipation of Colin’s next move. They had agreed and Colin didn’t even have to work for his favour so his sudden appearance just didn’t make any sense. Hell, Colin was just as dependent on Odin to gain his powers so he couldn’t be here to make the situation escalate. At least that was what Anders told himself.

“Which agreement?” Ivan asked, eyes jumping back and forth between Anders and Colin.

 _Fuck_.

Mitchell reached out an arm to Ivan without touching him. “He’s Loki, Ivan,” he hastened to say, “Don’t trust him.”

“Another god?” Ivan half asked, half stated.

“Ignore him,” Axl said, “He’s got nothing to do with our negotiation.”

“So you brought backup after all?” Ivan looked at Axl in accusation, “What are you trying to achieve with that?”

“Nothing, he’s just… he’s…” Anders looked on in desperation as Axl was fumbling for an explanation.

Ivan sharply interrupted him. “Then why is he spying on us?”

Colin walked around the circle to come closer to the part occupied by Ivan. “I’m not spying, Ivan. I’m here for the entertainment.”

Ivan didn’t pay any mind to Colin’s intrusion. He kept his gaze fixed on Axl and under the well-cut suit Anders could see his muscles tense as his posture became more rigid. Despite his civilised demeanour Ivan was dangerous – Anders knew that better than any of his family members.

“That is not what we agreed,” the Old One nearly hissed at the youngest Johnson, “I don’t know if Mitchell has pointed this out to you and your family but I don’t _need_ to meet with you. I’m throwing you a bone here. This is between us and you bring Loki?”

Anders nervously dug his fingers into the palm of his hand. Ivan didn’t even know about his former deal with Colin but was already under the impression that he had been deceived – and Anders had no idea how to explain the situation. Mitchell narrowed his eyes, keeping a close look on Ivan. Watching the Irishman Anders remembered their conversation about being in fighting shape but what good could come out of this? They were stuck in this circle and the more Colin talked the worse things became.

Axl shook his head, stumbling over his words. “No, I didn’t know he’d come, he’s…”

Colin pointed at Axl from outside the circle. “ _You_ didn’t know, that’s right.”

At that, Anders turned sharply to Colin. “What are you implying?”

A knowing smirk. “You should know best.”

Mitchell’s eyes flashed to black in between two blinks. “Colin, I swear if you…”

“If I what?” Colin cut the vampire short, “And what will you do, fang-boy? Looks to me you’re effectively trapped in this new-age-y stone circle.”

The superiority that dripped from Colin’s words made Mitchell growl as he intuitively resorted to a pose from which he could easily leap forward.

Anders watched on, nervousness making his hands shake and his eyes wide. He took in every detail so closely that nothing but a blur remained of the situation. _Focus_. _Prioritise_. Mitchell had to stay inside the circle, they _all_ had to, but especially his lover was vulnerable to Colin’s poison, apparently.

Ivan didn’t even acknowledge Mitchell’s growl. “I don’t appreciate being taken for a fool,” he said gravely and looked around to meet the Johnson’s eyes – those that were brave enough to look at him.

Mike stepped towards Ivan, his hands lifted in a gesture that came close to showing surrender. “He’s not with us, Ivan,” he said in a calm, measured tone.

The Old One stared at him. “He’s a god.”

“Yes,” Mike nodded, “but we’re not on the same side.”

“Don’t say that, Mikkel!” Colin’s voice sounded over their argument as he let up on Mitchell, “When your boy Anders came calling it seemed like we were as close as brothers!”

Anders’ stomach dropped as the thoughts rushed through his head with painful speed. So Colin was hell bent on unveiling their little deal and if that happened they were done for… and Mitchell’s new status as “not with Ivan” would actively change to “enemy.”

This time, Ivan spun around to assess Colin. His stance had become just as flexible as Mitchell’s but with speed and elegance that Anders hadn’t seen before, not even from his lover.

“Colin, back off,” Anders said loudly, “Whatever it is you want to talk about we’ll deal with it later. This is important.”

“I’m fully aware,” he nodded, “Which is why it hurts even more that you didn’t invite me.”

Mitchell gave a hiss and his face contorted into an aggressive grimace as he snarled at Colin. “What do you want, why are you here?!”

His Irish accent intensified, his voice just short of a bark and loud enough to make the Johnsons stop in their tracks and cast fearful glances at Mitchell.

 _Fuck_. Their deal was one part of the problem but if Mitchell let himself get riled up by Colin to the extent that he left the circle… with panic Anders realised that Colin didn’t need to infuriate Ivan or Axl – if Mitchell gave in to his mind games and lost control it would prove just as deadly. If he overstepped the barrier to get to Colin Anders would lose him for good; a thought that made his throat go dry. But even if he stayed inside, vamped out and attacked blindly Colin would’ve won: Ivan would certainly fight back and the Johnsons were stuck in an arena with two wild beasts, offered up as collateral damage. Bragi on his tongue Anders moved closer to his lover while everyone else had subtly put more space between themselves and the vampire.

Colin only shrugged in answer. If he was impressed by Mitchell’s outburst it didn’t show at all. “It’s a social call. You see, no negotiation should be concluded without the participants knowing everything about each other.”

“Colin…” Anders said sharply, one eye on Mitchell while he wracked his brain to find a way to deal with Colin. _It’s your fault,_ a nasty little voice in the back of his head reminded him, _if they die it’s on you_.

Colin ignored Anders. “Let’s start with the saucy details right away, shall we? Mikkel, did you know that Anders is fucking Mitchell? Or maybe it’s the other way around, I’m not so sure who of them likes to take it up the arse.”

Anders’ head started spinning as Colin sketched their relationship in those violent words. His first look went to Mitchell who grew tenser, if that was possible, but remained where he was. Then, Anders realised how quiet his family had fallen; a silence different from the fearful shock that had shut them up before.

Mike didn’t bat an eyelash – his face was as stoic as Mitchell’s while Axl had taken to throwing surprised and somewhat incredulous looks between him and the vampire. Ty looked on with wide eyes and only Olaf smiled and nodded at Anders.

“And that’s not all!” Colin went on, not giving anyone a chance to react, “Let’s not forget the detail that Mitchell is a vampire. Blood – that’s what it all comes down to with you. A god’s blood, no less – that has to count for something. How does it taste, Mitchell? Better than the average fix?”

Anders half expected Mitchell to lunge forward but the Irishman only stared at Colin with cold hatred in his eyes.

“I bet my illicit earnings they fuck while Mitchell digs his fangs into Anders. I’d say that qualifies as double penetration. Word around the campfire is that’s his signature style, apparently he even keeps his… blood suppliers? alive for a while until he tires of them. Did you know, Anders?” Colin turned to him now, relaxed as if he was discussing the latest celebrity news, “Your vamp is a fairly mean fella. But then again your choice in hook-ups is questionable.”

 _It’s Loki. Drown it out_. Anders tried to keep breathing evenly and ignore the insistent throbbing in his head. Colin was doing his utmost to gatecrash this situation but it wouldn’t be Anders who gave in. No matter what Loki told him about Mitchell he wouldn’t listen. No matter what Loki said about him – Anders had thought worse of himself and he wouldn’t let it get to him. Colin didn’t deserve this victory.

“You always were a whore, Anders, but look at you now.” Colin let his assessing glance travel all over Anders’ body to which the blond only smiled his lazy PR smile. _Nice try_.

“Quite a different league. Spreading your legs and offering your throat. Your family must be proud.”

Anders opened his mouth but before any sound left his throat Mitchell gave a hiss and lunged forward. He was fast. But somehow, Anders was faster – he couldn’t say how but his hand darted out and he grabbed Mitchell’s arm. The momentum of the Irishman’s move dragged Anders two steps closer to the line of stones but as soon as Mitchell felt his grip he stopped to the sound of gasps from the Johnsons. Anders’ arm burned from the pull but he didn’t let go.

Colin shook his head slowly. “Oh Mitchell, didn’t you listen? Stone circle of doom. You’re not getting out of there alive.”

Mitchell’s chest was heaving in restrained aggression and under his grip Anders’ could feel his muscles quiver. In an attempt to soothe him the blond lightly stroked over his arm, murmuring unintelligible syllables and fighting back Bragi’s insistence. Using enchanted words now and for the first time on Mitchell could only backfire and sullenly, Bragi retreated far enough for Anders to concentrate fully on his lover.

“But speaking of you, Big Bad John…” Mitchell flinched slightly at the title as Colin went on, “Isn’t it weird for you? You stand here, between your blood whore and your former mentor and lover. Seems an interesting juxtaposition to me. Questions of loyalty arise… but you actually chose to have Bragi around, god of dirty talk.”

“What’s it to you?” Mitchell asked through gritted teeth, his face a cold mask.

“Just curious. You seem like a man of simple pleasures. But okay, keep the rest of your filthy secrets to yourself – we’ll talk later about that time you did the twins.”

Colin turned in a sharp twirl and Anders breathed out slowly. They had withstood Colin’s attack for now and while the situation was far from relaxed Mitchell wasn’t his target anymore. Anders squeezed the Irishman’s arm lightly, hoping to convey a reassurance that he didn’t feel.

Colin walked two steps, all eyes following him closely. He had crafted his own stage and, typical for him, enjoyed the show he was putting on. Anders hoped that all they had to do was sit tight and keep from letting Colin play them. He had to get bored eventually – hopefully sooner rather than later.

Anders’ initial relief of Colin moving on from them waned as he addressed the other vampire. “Ivan! Where’s Daisy?”

That question had bugged Anders as well but hearing Colin speak of her caught him off-guard. Ivan had said she was otherwise engaged – it all depended on the Old One and his knowledge about Daisy’s whereabouts whether this was a threat or not.

All eyes fixed on Ivan who in return stared at Colin, jaw locked and waiting.

“Did you leave her all alone while you attend this farce here?” Colin asked, feeding the faint suspicion that had been growing in Anders’ – and no doubt also Ivan’s – mind. “Seems a little careless to me.”

The Johnsons looked on as Ivan asked in a calm and measured tone, “What have you done to her?”

Anders’ skin tingled in gooseflesh at the cold sound of Ivan’s voice that cut through the clearing like a knife. Next to him, Mitchell stirred.

“Ivan, he’s lying,” the Irishman said, imploring, “Don’t listen to him.”

Ivan didn’t acknowledge Mitchell but kept his eyes on Colin. “Tell me.”

His tone hadn’t lost any of its authority. If anything it had become colder, a clear order as well as a threat. No one dared to move or interrupt the boding silence that weighed heavy.

Colin shrugged, hands shoved into his slacks, seemingly oblivious to Ivan’s mood. “Nothing… If I had done something very specific to her my part of the deal would be fulfilled, though.”

Ivan narrowed his eyes imperceptibly. “Which deal?”

“HAHA!” Colin’s signature laugh sounded sharply, “My favourite part.”

Anders felt sick as Colin rubbed his hands together and nodded in his direction. “Anders came to see me yesterday.”

“Colin, we agreed,” Anders said in a pressed voice, “You get your favour.”

“That’s right. I do. Beautiful, isn’t it?” Colin was addressing the whole clearing now, back again in his role as entertainer, “I don’t even have to work for it. But that is just a recent development. In fact, my side of the deal was a gruesome one.”

 _Make him stop_. Anders’ pulse was racing now as he tried to find something to shut him up but all that spilled over his lips was, “Colin…”

“Anders, let me tell you something. As much as I enjoy not working for taking advantage of your doubtlessly talented mouth,” Colin threw a lewd look towards Mitchell, “I don’t appreciate being ordered about.”

He turned around again, leaving Ivan’s barely contained fury casually behind. All playfulness so inherent in his performance was gone as he stared at Anders. “By no one. But _especially_ not by the Johnsons. You called me up like a servant boy and just as quickly dismissed me. I will not have that.”

 _So it is my fault after all_. Anders had known that call wouldn’t go without consequences but the show Colin put on here was nothing short of a suicide mission. Surely he could see that?

“As we agreed,” Anders said slowly but with determination, “you get your favour, no matter what.”

Colin nodded. “And I will insist on that. But in the meantime I like to see what happens.”

Ivan moved closer to Colin, closing also the distance to Anders and Mitchell. “What was your part of the deal, Colin?”

“Ivan, don’t believe him,” Mitchell growled, “He’s the god of lies.”

“The part about you and Anders is true, isn’t it?” Ivan shot back.

Mitchell hesitated only a moment. “Ivan, please. He’s trying to play us.”

From farther back Ty spoke up angrily and Anders turned to him in surprise. “Colin, you’re endangering your own future.”

“Am I, Tyrone?” Colin asked with a raised eyebrow.

Ty’s sudden statement seemed to have cured the Johnsons from their stasis. Axl added sternly, “We’re trying to come to terms here about Frigg.”

“Ah yes, Frigg.” Colin tilted his head.

“If she’s killed you’ll never get your full powers,” Axl gestured.

“I don’t want to have her killed,” Colin pointed out smugly, “And neither you, much to my dismay.”

“Then why are you doing this?” Mike asked, exasperated and angry.

“Oh Mikkel… because it’s fun. Rest assured I have my ways to protect the godly beloved without your ridiculous attempt at making peace with a bunch of blood suckers.” Colin looked nearly offended. “Which brings me back to my earlier point. Daisy.”

Putting the focus back on Ivan slowed the situation down – the quick succession of the argument made the following silence heavier as everyone looked at the Old One in suspense.

Ivan placed himself at the edge of the circle, coming as close to Colin as possible without overstepping the stones.

“This world is not large enough for you to run,” Ivan enunciated clearly yet with an underlying growl, “I will find you if you’ve done something to her and no circle of stones will protect you.”

Colin smiled. A fine, mean smile, not unlike the one Ivan had presented earlier and in this moment Anders understood that they had lost once and for all.

“Mitchell told me as much,” Colin said, “He and Anders were very insistent that I take out both of you.”

 

* * * * * * * * *

 

 _It’s over_. With sudden feeling of clarity Anders gave up as Colin finally spilt their secret, followed by a moment of shocked silence. No clever phrasing would save them, no deal or promise.

Almost in trance Anders saw how Ivan’s eyes flashed to black. The Old One turned sharply to him and Mitchell and bared his fangs though no sound came from his throat. The Johnsons scattered to the side of the circle as Ivan darted forwards. Anders couldn’t move. He saw Ivan approach, a snarl on his lips and nightmarish eyes but the blond’s body seemed rooted to the spot. _It’s over_. Ivan would kill him. And then Mitchell. And his family. A slight whimper made its way over Anders’ lips at this realisation. Ivan was so close he could see the lines on his face when all of the sudden Anders was shoved to the side and his perception snapped back into normal focus. He stumbled a few steps, almost toppling over when Ty grabbed him. His body hurt from the shove and Ty’s grip but the growling and scowling in his back made Anders turn around immediately, scared of what he might see but even more afraid of not witnessing it.

Ivan had grabbed the Irishman by the throat and squeezed while Mitchell’s left clawed at his hand, desperate for him to loosen the grip. The strained gasps sounded so human under the black eyes and protruding fangs that Anders set to move and help when Ty held him firmly back. In that moment, Mitchell’s right stroke out and hit Ivan in the ribs. Once, twice and the Old One let go of Mitchell enough that he could pry the fingers from his throat. Anders’ relief didn’t last long – Ivan jammed his shoulder in Mitchell’s stomach, drawing what little air was left in his lungs and pushed him dangerously close to the stones on the ground. Ty’s fingers dug deeper into Anders’ arms as the blond irrationally attempted to rush forwards and keep Mitchell inside the circle. _I can’t lose him_. The thought pulsated in Anders’ mind as he watched Mitchell stumble backwards, regaining control of his body before his boots could cross the barrier. He grabbed Ivan by his hair to hold him in place and hit him with a right hook in the face. The Old One had no time to react when Mitchell threw his weight against him, moving them back into the middle of the circle. Ivan’s nose was evidently broken. Blood dripped over his lips and onto his lapel as he backhanded Mitchell so hard that he stumbled to the side, farther away from Anders.

Colin’s laugh hovered over the scene, loud and piercing. A cruel soundtrack to Anders’ fear for Mitchell. His lover was shielded from Anders’ view by Ivan’s body for a moment – time that his mind used to fill in the blanks, torturing him with images of Mitchell lying on the ground bleeding.

“Haha! What a show!” The lawyer walked along the circle and threw interested glances at the fight, every step a weird crackling noise among the sounds of the attacks. _You bastard. If we get out of here alive I’ll break you_.

In the middle of the circle the fight went on and Anders watched in growing horror. Mitchell’s lip was split and bloody but he was steady on his feet again. Ivan lunged at him, fangs aiming for Mitchell’s throat as the Irishman spat a mixture of blood and saliva in his face, catching him off-guard. With wide eyes Anders watched Ivan’s fangs scrape along Mitchell’s shoulder. Fangs tore the fabric of his jacket and sick to the stomach Anders expected to see a gaping wound. The feared gush of blood didn’t appear and Mitchell reacted quickly. His head jerked forwards and he attempted to bite Ivan’s throat in return but the Old One dodged the attack and retaliated with a blow to the stomach.

Anders was sweating heavily now. Ty was still grabbing him and Anders had taken to clutching his brother’s arm for support as well. His head was spinning, his knees weak as he continued to stare at the two fighting vampires. This was not a battle for dominance in which the loser would bow to the winner – this fight was designed to leave only one person standing.

Colin returned to the place he had started his walk from but still the crackling sound rang in Anders’ ears. His cheeks were hot, drops of sweat running down his temple as he stood helplessly on the sidelines, watching Mitchell take another hit.

Next to him, his family started to move and shout but Anders could barely make out the words. The air became hard to breathe but he stared on, terrified, when he saw something flicker behind Mitchell and Ivan. The reason for his family’s unrest and the increasing heat. A snap of Colin’s fingers and the flames that had followed his footsteps licked as high as Anders’ shoulder.

“Watch out!” Mike shouted over the sounds of the flames and grabbed Olaf and Axl, “Anders, Ty, come over here!”

Anders simply reacted to Mike’s words without further thought. He dragged Ty away from the flame circle and somehow made it over to the rest of his family with barely contained fear. His hands wouldn’t let go of Ty as he looked over to the vampires. Ivan and Mitchell continued to fight, both bloody and refusing to stop this madness while the Johnsons huddled together, trying to retain distance from them as well as from the fire.

“Another circle?” Axl shouted in a high-pitched voice that betrayed his panic, “Colin, you prick, I command you stop it right now!”

Colin only smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another circle, another cliffhanger... it's the showdown after all!  
> Thanks for reading :)


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Colin has effectively crashed this negotiation... here's what happens when five gods and two vampires are confined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **There's a bit of graphic violence in this chapter.**
> 
>  
> 
> Right... so here's the climax of the climax. Jumping right in so you might have to take a look at the last paragraph again.
> 
> This was bloody difficult and exhausting to write. Blame my inexperience when it comes to handling showdown scenes in case you feel something is off - but I tried my best. So I just cross my fingers that you guys enjoy it to some extend while I look forward to more dialogue-driven scenes ^^
> 
> Special shoutout to my ConsultingFili who had to read about a hundred drafts of this and discuss a million ways this scene could go. 
> 
> Now I'll go and lie down for a bit *phew*

Anders was standing a few feet away from the fire but the heat still made him sweat and take uneasy breaths. His family was gathered around him, all in different states of panic and fear. A whirl of voices and the crackling sound of the fire assaulted his ears and he felt hands on him, he himself grabbing someone, probably Ty but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the fight continuing in the middle of the circle.

In the moments it had taken Anders to change his spot Ivan must have hit Mitchell hard. The Irishman was bleeding. His split lip didn’t stop to produce crimson blood that ran down his chin, joined by drops running down from a nasty gash on his cheek that hadn’t been there before. He was standing somewhat steadily on his feet but Anders’ stomach cramped in panic when he saw that the side of Mitchell’s jacket was torn as well – and damp with blood.

Still Mitchell lunged forward once more, grabbed Ivan by his lapel and delivered a head-butt that made Ivan’s nose crack in a gush of blood, breaking it for good. The Old One stumbled backwards but Mitchell tightened his grip in an attempt to keep him inside the circle. Roughly, with a motion that went through his entire body he yanked Ivan back, drops of blood falling from his nose. Mitchell’s face contorted in a nightmarish snarl as he aimed once more for Ivan’s throat in an uncanny fast motion.

 _Bite down_ , Anders silently implored Mitchell only to be shocked by his own recklessness. He didn’t want Ivan to die, especially because they still needed him. But this was Mitchell’s chance. If he managed to knock Ivan out now this fight would be over before his wounds took their toll.

But Mitchell wasn’t fast enough. Anders stared on in horror how Ivan raised one fist and punched Mitchell’s chest – unfocussed but hard enough to make him miss his throat. A ripping noise sounded and Ivan’s shirt was torn open, the other’s fangs leaving a red trail down the pale chest. Ivan’s mouth opened in what may have been a scream or a hiss as he moved back quickly and Mitchell, not prepared for the sudden lack of counterbalance, stumbled after him.

The small stagger the Irishman needed to regain his balance took too long. As much as Anders wanted to deny it – Mitchell was growing weaker, and fast. Of course he had drunk his blood and surely it had helped him to get better. But he was far from entirely healed. Anders swallowed heavily as he saw Mitchell’s second attempt at Ivan’s throat but even from his vantage point it was evident that the attack was but a weak echo of the first. _Come on, my love…_

Anders clung desperately to hope, the only thing he could actually do in this moment. All was not lost yet, Mitchell was fast and swift and strong… he couldn’t lose. _But Ivan is a vampire too – and an Old One at that._ He must have been around for hundreds of years and had certainly seen more fights than Mitchell. Strength-wise this fight may have been a draw, both vampires fast and brutal, but the repercussions from the attack in the alley were increasingly visible in Mitchell’s movements.

Ivan’s elbow hit him into the side when he didn’t move out of the way fast enough. A pained gasp and Anders’ mind produced images of his lover, bleeding between two vampire thugs. Their last fight had happened but 24 hours ago though it seemed like ages to Anders. Yet only yesterday he had carried Mitchell to Dawn, had been afraid to lose him… had seen him pale and weak.

Mitchell barely withstood Ivan’s hit and Anders cringed, still feeling the impact of the Old One’s fist on his own torso. The Irishman came so close to the flames that the air suddenly smelled of singed hair as Mitchell clawed at Ivan, throwing his weight against him in pure desperation. Next to Anders, his family suddenly fell silent and not even Colin’s blurred commentary or the constantly flickering flames could distract the blond from the scene in front of him.

Ivan landed a hard punch on Mitchell’s shoulder and the Irishman howled in pain. The sound made Anders sick to the stomach, along with the knowledge that this was the shoulder Dawn had popped back in. Ivan snarled at Mitchell, the lower part of his face entirely covered in blood, and used the moment to knee him in the stomach. The Irishman tried to grab Ivan with his right but he went to his knees with an air of finality, one arm clutching his stomach, blood and saliva dripping from his lip.

Anders’ throat went bone dry. _Ivan_ _will kill him._ What had seemed like an abstract thought just a moment before suddenly became reality, piercing through Anders’ mind like a hot knife.

His body darted into action and he stemmed against the grip on his arms to get to Mitchell – he had nearly lost his lover to Ivan once already and that wouldn’t happen again. He needed to get to him, _now_ , but several pairs of hands held him back, Colin’s laughter ringing shrill in his ears, Mitchell’s eyes closed in pain…

“Let go!” Anders shouted and without his consent Bragi jumped onto his tongue, amplifying the words and spreading the sound throughout the circle.

His brothers didn’t adhere to his command but the vampires stopped in their tracks. Breathing heavily Anders tried to understand what had just happened – never before had Bragi taken over like that but then Mitchell lifted his head to look at Anders. His hands fell loosely to his side as he swayed back and forth, always on the brink of toppling over but bound by Anders’ voice. Ivan’s head snapped around sharply and the black eyes focussed Anders, inhuman and unblinking. His fangs were still bared, his position one of attack yet the rational part underneath the beast was forced to listen to Bragi.

Anders’ heart beat hard against his ribcage and if it hadn’t been for the support of his brothers’ grip he may have stumbled under Ivan’s unexpected attention on him. All suddenly restrained brutality manifested in his eyes and Anders could _feel_ how Ivan fought against Bragi’s influence. And he was strong.

Around Anders the flames died down to hip height at a snap of Colin’s finger but he barely noticed – Ivan’s stare held him captive as much as Bragi controlled the Old One.

“My Lord Bragi has made his entrance!” Colin commented loudly over the fire, “And he didn’t even spare Anders’ boy toy. The plot thickens!”

The sound of his name caught Anders off-guard. He turned halfway around to Colin on instinct, his words arriving in Anders’ mind a tick later but in that moment, Bragi’s improvised spell lost its hold over the Old One.

Ivan snarled loudly and a jolt went through his body as he shook off the effect, regaining control over his body. Colin was right about Mitchell, though – however few and scattered Bragi’s words had been the Irishman was utterly caught in the net they had spun. Bragi’s power danced on his tongue but Anders couldn’t utter a word as Ivan lunged forward, grabbed Mitchell and jammed a knee in his lover’s face.

Mitchell collapsed to the side.

 _No_. “No, Mitchell!” Anders whispered hoarsely at the motionless figure on the ground, helplessly watching Ivan kick him in the ribs with a sickening sound to make sure he stayed down.

A quick move and Ivan let go of the Irishman to turn to Anders.

This time, no shove from Mitchell manoeuvred him out of the line of attack. Ivan lunged towards him with a snarl, his left pulling at Anders’ scarf. He stumbled towards Ivan yet when the knot opened Ivan’s right took over and his chilly hand closed around Anders’ throat.

“Ivan,” Anders managed to croak out as the black eyes stared into him. The blond gasped at the grip, clawing at Ivan’s hands like Mitchell had done before him but to no avail – the air in his lungs was wearing thin. _I’ll die next to him_. Around Anders the Johnsons didn’t scatter but huddled closer, words flying from their lips that the blond couldn’t make out. He was struggling against Ivan but couldn’t say for how long; time was passing according to its own rules. His throat was squeezed so tightly that not even Bragi could help him. His one defence was effectively disarmed and little dots sparked in Anders’ vision while Colin was still commenting. His family was up in arms, shouting and moving but all Anders could think of was the motionless heap of dark clothes and cool flesh that lay in the dirt. _Mitchell_ …

The grip around his throat tightened even further for a split second. Cold, Anders thought through his foggy mind, the fingers digging in his skin were cold. Not the chilly touch of a vampire’s hand but… in front of his eyes Ivan’s face turned paler than it had already been and the Old One’s breath escaped his lips in puffs of condensation.

“Get your hands off him!” Ty’s voice sounded loudly throughout the circle as Ivan’s grip on Anders loosened. With a gasp the blond pried away the lingering icy fingers and stumbled backwards, feeling supporting hands in his back.

Ivan’s hand was still outstretched as if it grabbed the ghost of Anders’ throat. His eyes were black and fangs bared but the angry snarl had given way to a sound that grated in Anders’ ears, halfway between a pained growl and a breathless sob. Ty’s fingers were wrapped firmly around the outstretched wrist. Blue lines of different shades dispersed from his fingertips and up Ivan’s arm like additional veins before they disappeared under the cuffs of his suit, wandering up the ripped front of his shirt, over his chest and up his neck.

Anders’ coughed in strained gasps as he bent over and struggled for breath. His head was spinning and if it hadn’t been for Mike steadying him and rubbing his back soothingly he would’ve collapsed on the spot. The blond’s throat hurt like hell, burning from the outside and the inside alike but at least the cold air helped. The coughs evened out but his heart was beating hectically against his chest, making him dizzy. Anders grabbed Mike and moved to stand upright again, ignoring his brother’s worried murmur and trying to blink away the spots.

His vision slowly returned to normal save for a few dots that remained. It took him a moment to understand that it were snowflakes whirling around his brother – no, around Hodr.

Eyes wide and hand unconsciously rubbing his throat Anders stared at Ty, all powered-up and in god mode. Ivan was still standing and struggling against the cold that flowed from Ty into his body but the pained look on his face showed which hold Hodr had over him. _He’s saving us._ Mitchell and he could…

“Anders, stay here,” Mike shouted but the blond escaped his grasp and ran towards the unmoving vampire. From the corner of his eyes he saw how Olaf and Axl hectically pried Ty away from Ivan but none of that mattered to Anders. His throat worked against him when he took in pained breaths but a few steps and he knelt next to Mitchell, the sound of the flames fighting against Ty’s powers hissing in his ears.

“Mitchell,” he whispered. No answer. Anders helplessly let his hands hover over the vampire’s body for a moment before carefully, so very carefully turning him onto his back. A few leaves stuck to his jacket and in his hair but no tension was left in his body as Anders cradled Mitchell’s head in his lap.

The Irishman looked far worse than after the incident in the alley. His hair was encrusted with blood that still ran from his nose, his lip, and several cuts and gashed all over his face – barely a clean spot was left. His eyes were closed and his lips parted, the sharp fangs glinting stunningly white among the dirty red of the rest of his features. Little faint clouds of shallow breath left his mouth in the cold that Ty had manufactured.

 _He’s not dead._ Anders clung to this fact with the last bit of hope he could muster. His mind was racing as he stared at Mitchell’s lips, anxious that another exhale just would not come and he would leave him here.

“Mitchell…” Anders’ voice rasped.

A gushing icy wind grazed Anders and took Mitchell’s next breath with it. The cold air hit the flame circle and with another loud crackling hiss the flames died down. Only the circle of stones remained as the border.

Anders lifted his head in confusion, turning towards Ty. His brother looked about as stunned as Anders himself, a few stray snowflakes dancing around his figure and falling softly to the ground.

“Ty, did you…” Olaf broke the astonished silence when a guttural shout from Ivan interrupted him.

“DAISY!” the Old One yelled and darted towards the edge of the circle.

Beyond the stones and not concealed by the flames anymore Daisy and Colin were fighting. Their growls filled the air but all Anders could make out from his vantage point was a bundle of red silhouettes and his family grabbing Ivan.

 _Colin bluffed about holding Daisy captive_. Anders felt like he should react to this turn of events somehow but all he could focus on was the feeling of Mitchell’s hair under his fingers, the damp fabric of his jacket against his arm and the shallow breaths he took.

“Daisy!” Ivan’s voice pierced through Anders, desperation ringing in this one word. The Old One stemmed against his captors, moving to and from the stones in an absurd choreography in which no one had the upper hand.

Anders held Mitchell closer to shield him from any rash move Ivan might make. Not that they were the target – that honour had shifted to Colin. They may be on different sides but the Old One was trying to protect his lover as much as Anders was.

“Wake up, my love,” Anders murmured and felt hot tears gathering in his eyes when Mitchell didn’t respond. The cold ground bit through his clothes and Mitchell’s cool skin seemed to lose what little warmth was left. In a soothing gesture Anders ran his hand through his lover’s hair, murmuring words already forgotten when they left his lips.

“Please, Mitchell…”

The sickly sweet smell of Mitchell’s blood turned his stomach. Ivan must have torn his side deeply but Anders couldn’t bring himself to take a closer look at the wound. Instead, his fingers left Mitchell’s hair and he pressed his right palm onto the part of the fabric that was most damp with blood. If only Dawn was here – she would know whether he actually helped Mitchell with this or just inflicted further pain. Anders cast a fearful glance at Mitchell’s face but the Irishman remained unconscious. With his left Anders fumbled for his hand, bruised and bloody like his own, concentrating on the feeling of Mitchell’s skin instead of the blood sticking to his other palm.

“I’ll take care of you, my love, I’ll patch you up…” He intertwined their fingers in an absurd hope that Mitchell might return his grasp – but nothing. _He can’t leave me_. If Mitchell was gone what should he do? Cross the line of stones? He would be alone in this world once again, left to fend for himself but without a reason to do so. _Come on_ …

Anders pressed a kiss on the Irishman’s hair, drowning out the smell of blood with the scent inherent to Mitchell. The words were heavy in his throat. “Don’t leave me…”

“Anders!” Axl’s voice cut through to him sharply as his younger brother appeared next to him, “We need Bragi.”

Not again, Anders thought and held Mitchell closer, not another fight that took more from him than he could give. He drew circles on Mitchell’s cold hand, not willing to turn away from him even though Axl was breathing heavily next to him. Blood was still seeping from Mitchell’s wound but otherwise he remained motionless.

“Please Anders, quick,” Axl said urgently, “Get Ivan level-headed.”

Bragi, the great manipulator. Anders didn’t look up but kept his eyes on Mitchell. _Wake up. Fight it_. What good would it do to talk to Ivan? It hadn’t worked the first time around and now Mitchell was out of the equation. And if he couldn’t stand up to Ivan, no one could. This was a fight won with physical strength and not with words.

“Anders!” Axl grabbed him by the shoulder so hard that Anders’ fingers slipped from between Mitchell’s. The Irishman’s hand dropped back to the ground at the loss of the grasp, lifeless and heavy.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Anders hissed and his hand darted out, shoving Axl with enough force to make him stumble back a few steps.

Anger was sparking in him and he could barely contain the sudden rage at his brother’s interference. If this was to end here he would stay with Mitchell. And not even Odin would change that.

“Anders, please,” Axl implored him, “You need to help.”

 _There is no help_. If Daisy lost to Colin the Old One would break the circle. If she won Ivan would find a way to retaliate and attack Anders and Mitchell again – he surely wouldn’t forget who set Colin on his track. Wherever Axl took his energy from this source would soon run dry as well when he’d finally realise that their time was borrowed and slipping through their fingers quickly.

Grasping the Irishman’s hand again Anders answered, “I need to be with Mitchell. I need to help him.”

“Which you do by talking to Ivan,” Axl said in a calm voice, “Anders, I beg you. Use Bragi. I’ll take care of Mitchell, I promise.”

He looked more earnest than Anders had ever seen him, every inch the determination Odin was supposed to have. The initial panic had vanished from his voice but didn’t yet take on a sharp authoritative tone. Anders hesitated and wetted his lips. Axl wasn’t commanding him as Odin but asking as a brother. In his arms Mitchell didn’t move.

“Axl…” Anders said with pleading eyes, hoping that he would understand, “I can’t leave him.”

Why did he even have to make this choice? Anders felt short of passing out himself as he spoke these words, denying his brother to shield his lover. So he was a traitor as well, just like Mitchell. It was only well and just that they remained here.

Axl’s face didn’t harden like Anders thought it would. “You’re not leaving him, you’re saving him. That’s what you want, isn’t it? But for that I need your voice, brother, now. You need to calm Ivan down so that we can seal the deal. Only you can do that. Anders, please.”

No accusations, no harsh words of failing loyalty – Axl looked at him intently and crouched next to Anders, already acquiring a position to take over Mitchell. _He gets it_. Despite all their Gaia misgivings Axl didn’t take it out on Mitchell or invoked his authority as Odin. What Axl was trying to do was taking care of them all.

“But I can’t tell him to sign,” Anders’ voice shook, unable to react to anything anymore. His body was so tired and his mind wrapped into what felt like cotton wool. Besides, Bragi only worked so well on vampires as Anders had experienced firsthand and they knew that they were being manipulated – something a normal human couldn’t do. Ivan’s struggle against Bragi still reverberated in Anders’ head as a weird mixture of mental and physical strain he couldn’t place.

“You don’t need to,” Axl said, “Just get him off this frenzy. Make him listen.”

Anders hesitated. Maybe his brother wasn’t blind with hope and there was the slimmest chance to save not only Mitchell but also his family. Manipulating Ivan to sign was a sheer impossibility but keeping him in check could work. It had already. Axl knew Bragi’s limitations and asked Anders for no more than an honest attempt.

Anders pressed his lips together and looked at Mitchell, torn between his family and his lover. None of the happenings had made him stir but still the blond feared to leave him just like that. What if he woke up, needed help and no one was there?

“I’ll keep him safe,” Axl added said softly, “I promise.” He looked perfectly serious and lightly touched Anders’ shoulder.

“Okay…” Anders mumbled, choked up at this expression of support. He pressed a quick kiss on Mitchell’s temple and nodded at his brother.

Together they carefully moved the Irishman to rest on Axl and with a last look at his lover Anders turned to middle of the circle.

Ty grabbed Ivan’s arm, his fingers leaving freezer burn wherever it came into contact with bare skin. Olaf stood in front of Ivan and pushed him back while Mike had grabbed his sides and pulled. Yet Ivan wouldn’t stop struggling, eyes fixed on the ongoing fight outside. Daisy and Colin had moved further away from the clearing, and as of now Daisy pinned him against a tree while the leaves around them smouldered, sending up lines of thin smoke.

Anders walked towards the quarrel and wiped his hands down on his slacks. Mitchell’s blood left a grimy trail on the fabric as the blond stared at the man responsible for spilling it. But as long as Mitchell was breathing there was a chance for him to recover and once the contract was sealed they could all leave this fucking clearing once and for all.

“Ivan!” Anders yelled, trying to silence all unsaid words that were rushing through his head, “Stop right there. Don’t move.”

The Old One darted around to him, straining against the Johnsons’ grip. Anders’ voice was still rough and not nearly as strong as usual. His throat hurt from the crushing but Bragi made up for all of it as his power flowed smoothly from his tongue, grabbing Ivan’s mind.

“Don’t attack,” his voice sounded, focussing the Old One, “Leave it.”

Anders could feel the vampire’s squirming resistance against the net he was spinning and used Bragi once again, strengthening the threads. “Ivan, I command you. Don’t move.”

Sweat was running down Anders’ back as this strange struggle against Ivan continued. His body was quivering even though the confrontation was not physical – but Ivan was fighting nonetheless.

“Ivan, stop resisting and listen to me. We’re losing precious time.” Anders’ voice gained volume with every word and Bragi’s power reached out again.

Ivan’s movements became clumsy. He stumbled like a poorly played marionette in an attempt to free himself but the strings of sound restrained him. _It works_. Axl had been right…

The Old One growled from deep within his throat. Yet this feral sound didn’t change the fact that he was reacting to Bragi. Anders let out the breath he hadn’t known he was holding. Ivan’s eyes flickered to the fight outside but he stopped resisting the Johnsons. Mike threw Anders a questioning look and the blond nodded. Ivan was under his spell, a weird feeling of power gushing through Anders that he couldn’t place. It wasn’t him enjoying it, though – it was Bragi. Much like Ty had let Hodr in Bragi was becoming more dominant in Anders’ head.

His brothers let go of Ivan, hands still in position in case the Old One resisted after all. The chilly draft that had accompanied the struggle eased up as well when Ty took a hesitant step back. Olaf whispered something to Mike and walked over to Mitchell, squeezing Anders’ arm shortly as he passed him. The blond didn’t dare look at Mitchell, not now while he needed all remaining power. Anders’ body shook from exhaustion but Ivan was caught up in Bragi’s voice entirely now.

“I know you want to help Daisy,” Anders went on, the same longing towards Mitchell hitting him like a blow to the gut, “but you cannot leave this circle until we have put down our agreement in writing. We need to act, now. Do you understand?”

Ivan nodded, the piercing scream coming from Daisy only intensifying his motion. Anders couldn’t tell whether it was a scream of attack or pain. Either way he sensed that Ivan bent to his will not solely by Bragi’s influence. The amount of energy necessary to hold him decreased which could only mean that the rational part of his mind played along. A few more sentences and Anders was done here, free to return to Mitchell and let his family deal with the rest.

“Right now we’re not enemies. We’ve all been betrayed by Colin and we need to work together to get this done,” Anders said, breathing in the chilly air to stay alert, “I’ll let you go now. You will decide with Axl and seal the contract to get us all out of here. No flight, no attacks, you hear me?”

Ivan nodded again and Axl stepped next to Anders. Mike and Ty slowly retreated until they stood on one line with their brothers.

“Olaf is taking care of Mitchell,” Mike whispered and touched Anders’ trembling arm, “You’re doing great.”

Anders stared a moment longer at Ivan, this restrained beast responsible for Mitchell’s state. Bragi stirred in his mind, whispering creative ideas of retaliation – Anders only needed to open his mouth and the god of poetry would take over, making Ivan pay.

But Mitchell wasn’t dead yet and Ivan probably felt like Anders: scared and angry and sick with worry about his lover. With considerable effort Anders banned Bragi’s suggestions, appealing as they might be for the fraction of a moment.

“It’s okay, Anders, leave Ivan to us. Release him.” Mike’s calm words seeped through to him and Axl set to meet Ivan halfway.

Slowly, gradually Anders took back Bragi’s influence, the god tugging at his mind in complaint.

Outside the circle little islands of scorched soil showed the progress of Colin’s and Daisy’s fight, their muffled sounds still echoing through the clearing while Ivan took back control. The tingling in Anders’ mind subsided and his body felt hot and cold at the same time but Bragi was back in his box.

“Ivan – I’m willing to concede the point that…” Anders heard Axl go on with the negotiation but the words faded in his ears when the blond turned away.

His eyes found Mitchell, taken care of by Olaf and Anders walked over as fast as he could. But even a light jog made him gasp for breath, his throat rough and hurting along with the rest of his body. Using Bragi had taken out much more of him than he had thought.

Anders let himself fall onto the damp ground, next to his grandfather. “How is he?” he asked Olaf, unable to ban the fear from his voice. In the moments he had talked to Ivan he had been strong and convinced – but back here, seeing Mitchell like that, none of Bragi’s cockiness was of any use.

“Still unconscious,” Olaf answered solemnly and looked at Anders quizzically. “Are you alright?”

“Me? Yeah, yeah…” Anders mumbled, motioning for Olaf to transfer Mitchell back to him.

Something about the Irishman’s weight on him made Anders calmer again, blocking out whatever else was happening around him. He had done his share; now it was up to Ivan and Axl to come to an agreement and that thought held a soothing comfort.

Carefully, Anders bent over to take a closer look at Mitchell. Most of his wounds had stopped bleeding but Anders still pressed his hand on the soaked side, just to be safe. Olaf said something, patted his arm and left but Anders couldn’t process it even if he wanted. Mitchell’s eyeballs moving under his lids took up all his attention.

“Come on…” he murmured when Mitchell’s eyelids fluttered. “Mitchell?”

The Irishman’s eyes opened and revealed his brownish-green irises, dazed and unfocussed for a second. Anders bit back a choke as relief washed through him with an intensity he hadn’t seen coming.

“Mitchell,” Anders whispered and looked into his eyes, smiling and carefully rubbing his arm. Mitchell still looked awful but he was awake, finally, and that could only mean that things were turning for the better, right? Anders wetted his lips and watched his lover blink a few times, waiting for him to recognise his surroundings and him. The blond’s hand drew slow circles on Mitchell’s unhurt arm when the Irishman suddenly darted up. His fingers dug painfully into Anders arm as he drew in a deep breath like a drowning man and struggled into a sitting position. Anders could barely hold on to him, the sudden action catching him off-guard.

“Mitchell, love, please, calm down, I…” he began, trying to keep him from moving too much. His body must hurt like hell and just because he couldn’t feel it at the moment didn’t mean he wasn’t doing more harm to himself, Anders thought as he murmured soothing words. But the Irishman looked around hectically, barely seeing him.

“Ivan,” Mitchell panted and his eyes flicked to black, “where is he, what-…”

Anders grabbed him by the shoulder with more strength than he thought he had left. “It’s fine, Mitchell, he’s gone. He won’t attack again.”

Mitchell breathed heavily, tension making his whole body rigid but he reacted to Anders, looking first at him and then around the circle.

“Don’t move, babe, you’re hurt,” Anders said and tried his best to keep Mitchell calm without giving him too much information he couldn’t process, “Ivan and Axl are negotiating right now.”

The black in Mitchell’s eyes slowly gave way to his normal colour and his fangs retreated. Anders continued to steady him, stemming most of his weight when the tension left Mitchell’s body and he halfway slumped back against him. A pained hiss accompanied his movement as the Irishman turned his head, looking at Anders in worry. “What about you, did he…”

“I’m fine,” Anders smiled, “and I’m so glad you’re back.”

In that moment, a purple glow appeared around Ivan and Axl as Olaf bound two ribbons around the parchment. With a surprised huff Mitchell turned to the scene and Anders, still holding him close, watched the Old One darted out of the circle towards Colin and Daisy.

“It’s done,” Anders murmured against his lovers skin, “it’s done, Mitchell.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a heads-up: from what it looks like there are two more chapters coming and this story is done. Thanks for reading :)


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mitchell is awake, the contract is sealed... but there's still Colin fighting with Ivan and Daisy and who knows what the hell the parchment says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my, first off: thanks for treating this story so nicely! I'm crazy happy and surprised that there are over 200 kudos now o.O  
> I had a bit of a manic writing phase which luckily coincided with the weekend. So here it goes, the last but one chapter...
> 
> Trigger warning: **Suicidal thoughts**  
>  Not throughout, just in one instance.

Mitchell ran his arm over his mouth, scantily wiping away the congealed blood that stuck to his skin. He hissed when the fabric of his jacket rubbed over the gash in his bottom lip and it started to produce fresh blood again. Every muscle in his body hurt from where Ivan had hit and bitten him. His ribs protested with every strained intake of breath, the punches to his stomach prevented him from sitting upright and the shoulder Dawn had popped back in just felt… _wrong_. His left eye was on its way of swelling shut but at least the sharp pain in his side had subsided to a dull throbbing and the pain from the rest of his minor wounds was overridden by it.

Mitchell was thankful for the support of Anders’ body against his. They were still sitting on the damp soil after the purple glow of the sealed contract had vanished and Ivan had left the circle unharmed. The Johnsons had followed him but Mitchell couldn’t concentrate on the small figures on the far side of the clearing without becoming dizzy. He was barely able to make out Anders’ state but it seemed that the main area of his injuries were his neck and throat – new bruises had joined, looking like a smudged shadow of the darkened prints from yesterday.

“Did Ivan hurt you?” Mitchell rasped and spat out the blood that filled his mouth. He may have asked that before… but he needed to know from Anders again before he let the strangulation marks tell the story themselves.

“No…” Anders shook his head and lightly ran his fingers over his throat absently-minded, “I mean, yes, but Ty froze him before he could do permanent damage.”

Mitchell nodded with effort. Anders had told him a very short account of what had happened while he was out – Mitchell tried hard to follow his words and understand them despite his dizzy head. Something about Ty and Bragi… And now Ivan and Daisy were fighting Colin, somehow.

Mitchell carefully fingered along the swelling of his eye and tried hard to remember. “Where did Daisy come from?”

She hadn’t been there as far as he recalled: Ivan had been on his own. If Daisy had been his back-up Mitchell wouldn’t be sitting here talking about it.

“I don’t know,” Anders answered, weary in tone and running his fingers between the Irishman’s, “We only noticed when the fire went out.”

Daisy and Ivan… there was only one way this could end, Mitchell thought as he stared at the patches of scorched soil that lead the way into the forest.

“They’ll kill Colin…” he murmured and rubbed his thumb over the back of Anders’ hand.

Not that it mattered at this point. In fact, Colin had it coming and the only thing Mitchell regretted about this fate was that he wouldn’t participate actively in it.

Anders carefully ran his left through Mitchell’s hair and the Irishman leaned into the touch, closing his eyes. The little gesture calmed him in its familiarity, something steady in all of this confusing mess.

“That’s not our problem anymore,” Anders said with faint optimism in his voice, “We’ve done our share, we can go home…”

Mitchell opened his eyes again, looking for a point to focus on when another dizzy spell rushed through him.

“And they sealed the parchment in a hurry,” he mumbled, staring at a rotting branch in the grass, Anders’ voice but a murmur in his ear.

It all came down to the fucking contract. Even though Ivan had been in a rush to get out of the circle he still may have insisted on a point that harmed the Johnsons… or maybe they had forgotten something important and Frigg was in danger after all and they’d be in the same situation again, only worse.

“Anders,” Mitchell said with a bad feeling in his stomach, “what does the contract say?”

“I don’t know. I stayed with you. I was… you…” The grip on Mitchell’s hand became tighter and his body went rigid under the Irishman’s weight, “you looked…”

The blond’s voice quivered, the positive ring all but gone when he answered. Mitchell sat up to look Anders in the eyes, taking in a sharp breath when his ribs protested at the movement. The blond was pale and his Adam’s apple jumped nervously in his throat, trying to hold back a sob. The pain in the blue eyes hit Mitchell without preamble and before he had a chance to process this sudden change Anders went on.

“Mitchell, I thought… you lying there...”

Anders’ voice nearly broke and all relief he had shown when Mitchell had woken up was gone. His lips were moving but no coherent sound came over them when Anders desperately tried to find the right words. Mitchell’s heart clenched at the sight. Anders was utterly exhausted, physically as well as mentally, and all _he_ did was asking questions he knew neither of them had the answer to.

Mitchell simply pulled Anders to him, one arm around his torso, the other cupping his head. The blond clung to him, careful not to touch the wound on his side, and buried his face in the crook of Mitchell’s neck.

“I thought Ivan killed you for good this time while I was watching, doing nothing…” Anders spoke quietly against Mitchell’s skin, every word crushing under the blond’s desperation, “and Bragi even helped him distracting you…”

He pressed closer to him, shame visible in every shift of his body. Mitchell’s throat tightened. Yes, Bragi had thrown him off but he had also stopped Ivan from killing Mitchell in that moment of bloodrush. Despite his bravery Anders still insisted to take the blame – a reaction that Mitchell tried so hard to understand.

Instead of answering the Irishman pressed his face into the blond hair, breathing in the summery smell of his lover that even blood and dirt couldn’t drown out. Anders didn’t deserve this, none of it. He shouldn’t be the one who felt responsible. There was no way to measure whose action had prompted which consequence anymore – and it certainly didn’t matter in the greater scheme of things.

Mitchell gently rubbed over Anders’ back, hoping to convey all this in the gesture because the only thing he could say was, “Anders… It’s not your fault, my love.”

His voice sounded thick in his own ears. _Just breathe_. Under his hands Anders began to shiver and he pressed further into Mitchell’s neck, his breath washing hotly over it.

“I was thinking about leaving the fucking circle if you died and just… just leave all this to someone else.”

Mitchell tightened his grip on Anders and clenched his jaw at those muffled words he could just about make out. The thought of his lover just crossing the stones and… Squeezing his eyes shut to replace that picture with darkness and sparks Mitchell kissed the top of Anders’ head. Not only Anders was afraid of being on his own when this was over. But that he was willing to end it rather than go on alone made more Mitchell scared than any consequence the deal could have. Not because he would’ve been the reason for Anders’ decision but because something must be so very broken within his lover. And he didn’t know how to fix it.

Mitchell pressed a kiss on Anders’ temple, stroking through his hair and over his back to soothe him and disguise his own trembling hands. “But I’m fine, Anders, and I’m here with you.”

Anders remained quiet, clinging to Mitchell. The Irishman simply held him, for however long it should take. Finally, Anders nodded against his neck and pulled back.

“What are we going to do now?” he asked feebly, a broken sound, “I can’t go back to what it was like before, Mitchell, all that stuff with my brothers and Helen and Gaia…”

Whatever had happened with these two women – the very idea that Anders had to return to his brothers, to Mike, made Mitchell cringe. No, that wouldn’t happen on his watch.

“You don’t have to,” he said and cupped the cheek that wasn’t disfigured with a cut on the bone, “We’ll just get you home for now, Anders, and I’ll stay with you if you want.”

Somehow, in the back of his mind, Mitchell understood that he had never considered that Anders wouldn’t want him to stay. But he still wanted to give him an option. Lips pressed tightly together Anders nodded.

Normality, Mitchell thought, Anders needed normality. A version of the world that didn’t involve supernatural powers and vengeful characters like Colin and Ivan. He took the blond’s hand and pressed it reassuringly.

“We’ll go home and patch ourselves up first, then we feed your fish, and get into bed. Okay, my love? One step at a time. We’ll figure out the rest when we have slept for about a week.”

Neither of them was in any state to decide anything that went beyond this – hell, it would be a wonder if they got home without complications.

“Yeah,” Anders breathed, laid his hand over the Mitchell’s on his cheek and brought it to his lips, kissing his palm lightly. “Can you walk?”

Mitchell allowed himself the tiniest of smiles. _He’s back_. At least for now Anders was working with him. “I might need a bit of help.”

Anders nodded, struggled to his feet and helped Mitchell to get up. Pain darted through him when he made a wrong move but once he stood on his feet and leaned onto Anders his body settled somewhat.

Just as they figured out how Anders could support Mitchell without inflicting further on him a sweeping sound reached them along. Mitchell turned his head in surprise when ripples of something… something very strong reached him and Anders. The blond looked up in confusion as well. On the far side of the clearing Mitchell saw Colin, Ivan and Daisy all stumble in different directions, suddenly separated from each other.

“What-” Mitchell started but Anders only sighed.

“Odin,” he said flatly.

 _No wonder Ivan is scared of Odin_. From what Mitchell could tell Axl didn’t even break a sweat when delivering this power-shot-thing.

“You don’t need to go back,” Mitchell said, worried that Anders’ sense of duty outweighed his need for self-preservation, “like you said, you’ve done your share.”

Anders nodded. “Yes. But I’m still part of this.”

He sounded determined, a last flicker of strength making the decision an easy one for him.

“Well then,” Mitchell said, “let’s go.”

Anders looked at him in concern, his gaze flickering over the Irishman’s wounds. “You can stay here if you want.”

Mitchell scoffed in a weak attempt at humour. “I’m not missing the show. Someone needs to tell the tale afterwards…”

They moved towards the gathering of gods and vampires, slowly so Mitchell wasn’t in too much pain and Anders didn’t have to carry all of the Irishman’s weight. They must make a pitiful picture yet again, Mitchell thought and bit back a hiss when the next step send a shot of pain through his ribs. In front of them, the fight was broken up but two camps had formed themselves: the Johnson on one side opposing Ivan and Daisy on the other. Only Colin stood between them, on his own. Mitchell half expected him to run but maybe this Odin-power thing had captured him somehow. The sound of their arguing droned over to Mitchell and Anders before they arrived next to the Johnsons. Standing somewhat steady on his feet Mitchell still leaned on Anders for support, arm wound around his shoulders while the blond grabbed his hip.

Ty gave Anders a nod and a faint smile appeared on his face when he saw Mitchell. Olaf smiled at him, too, and even Mike nodded in his direction. Mitchell returned the gesture as did Anders, holding on to him a bit stronger before turning his attention to Axl.

“…want Colin to be extradited to us, Axl,” Ivan said sharply and took a step towards the youngest Johnson. His jaw was still coated in blood, his broken nose disfiguring his face and making his voice sound strange. At least he was hard done by too, Mitchell thought with grim satisfaction. If Ivan had noticed him and Anders arriving he didn’t show it; his anger was focussed on Axl for now.

Daisy’s face was marked up from the fight with Colin and her hair was slightly singed on one side; her right forearm showed a burn. But she held herself upright, the fury in her eyes not dimmed one bit.

“No.” Axl shook his head in a determined gesture before turning to Daisy, “And who are you?”

Daisy followed Ivan’s lead and stepped forward but with a more threatening move than her husband. “I’m the one who will rip Colin’s throat out.”

“No,” Axl repeated with another shake of his head.

Daisy smiled at him sweetly and Mitchell could tell that she was on the verge of snapping again. Axl had stolen her prey and that was something she didn’t take too kindly to. “You can’t save him from us.”

Axl stared at her as if she had lost her mind. “I don’t want to _save_ him.”

Colin looked up for the first time in this conversation. A swelling on his cheekbone grew with every passing minute and his face was scratched raw, the lines extending to his throat from where Daisy had attacked him. His suit was in tatters as well – the waistcoat hung open and the shirt underneath was ripped. Daisy had fought fiercely, Mitchell thought, not doubting the outcome of this fight if Axl hadn’t broken it up.

“Axl… my Lord Odin…” Colin began with a nervous laugh but Mike cut him short with a cold look. “Shut up, Colin.”

“Then why did you?” Daisy demanded to know, “Why not let us do the dirty work for you? We’d be more than happy to do it.”

“Because he’s not yours to judge,” Axl pointed out.

Daisy scoffed. “Oh yes, he is.”

Ivan nodded in agreement. “We’ve been looking for him for a longer time now.”

“…why?” Axl asked, as confused as the rest of his family at Ivan’s statement, “What business do you have with him?”

Daisy talked to Axl but jabbed an angry finger at Colin. “He and his henchmen have been attacking our people and infiltrating us.”

Mitchell drew his eyebrows together. He hadn’t heard that narrative yet but then again, his mission had been another. Ivan had assigned him specifically to the Odin task and before that Mitchell hadn’t taken part in vampire politics for a while. Still that didn’t answer the question that bugged him most.

“But why are you here, Daisy?” Mitchell asked through gritted teeth, every word a strain to his battered body. “He wasn’t planned to show up in the first place.”

For the first time in this discussion Daisy focussed him. Her green eyes narrowed and she tilted her head in a stalking motion – Mitchell had forgotten just how malicious she could look.

“I could ask you the same thing. I heard about your change of heart, Mitchell, and I figured Ivan could use back up… which was evidently right,” she threw a look at Colin, “Though for different reasons than I thought. Imagine my surprise when I found this little prick, all alone outside a fucking flaming circle.”

“Look, Daisy,” her name sounded strange coming from Axl, who evidently just learned who the new addition to the situation was, “I understand there are hostilities between you and Colin but that’s not what this is about here.”

Ivan raised an eyebrow. “Of course it is. Do you think you can separate his deeds? No, Axl, it doesn’t work that way. Colin is our enemy, has been our enemy before this meeting. There’s no two ways about it. And he is captured. Why is it so hard for you to hand him over? Why stand up for him? Axl, your loyalties are surprisingly fickle. Anders here said we all have been betrayed by him so the way I see it we’re doing us all a favour...”

Next to him Mitchell felt Anders’ body turn rigid at the mention of his name. The Irishman rubbed over his shoulder, discreetly offering comfort without anyone else noticing. Anders said nothing when Colin first looked at Anders, then at Ivan. “That’s a bit harsh…”

The ironic sound hadn’t yet stopped when Ty hissed, “Colin, we’re done with your shit so shut up.”

Mitchell couldn’t help but be impressed by Ty, again. Evidently he had misjudged him terribly – the man was fierce when it came to the important issues. _Good. We need people who aren’t hanging by a thread_. His own head wasn’t spinning that badly anymore but he also didn’t feel up for any kind of confrontation in the next month.

Ignoring Colin Axl went on, “And that is exactly the reason why you can’t kill him. Ivan, he is a god, he has betrayed gods and therefore he should be judged by gods. Odin, to be more specific.”

Olaf nodded and added, “You would only kill his vessel. Not long and he would be reborn again, in another body.”

Daisy’s laugh ended in a growl. “Believe me, when I’m done with him…”

Mitchell groaned, suddenly annoyed with Daisy’s hollow phrases. To him, all she did was delaying this conversion and their return to the car. “Cut it out, Daisy, Olaf is right and you know it.”

The look Ivan gave Mitchell was short but cold before he wrapped a protective arm around Daisy’s shoulders. “So what would you suggest to bring this unfortunate meeting to an end, Axl?”

Axl hesitated, eyes shifting under Ivan’s intense stare as he waited for a response. Mitchell felt at loss for an answer. What should they do with Colin? The rebirth argument was a solid one. If Ivan was right and Colin had attacked the vampire society at large it only added to the necessity of punishing him properly. At this point Mitchell didn’t care for specifics. All he wanted was for Colin to fuck off and leave them in peace, once and for all.

“Thought so,” the Old One replied to his own question when Axl stayed silent, “You’re protecting your own after all.”

 _Ivan, you don’t believe that_. Mitchell bit his tongue. There was no use in picking an argument with Ivan, not now anyway. The Irishman simply hoped that Axl saw through this tactic. Even after the main negotiation was done with Ivan continued to play this fucking power game only to mess with everyone’s head.

Mike cleared his throat. “Axl could take Colin’s power.”

Colin’s face fell, an expression of utter shock wiping the cocksure grin. The hate Mitchell felt towards Colin outweighed his resentment for Mike. _Serves you right, Loki_.

Ivan seemed to disagree, though. A crease appeared on his forehead. “That’s not enough. He threatened my Daisy and attempted to kill us. And a simple taking of his powers doesn’t stop him from further messing with our structures.”

“Ivan,” Ty said and Ivan looked at him wearily, “you have met Colin. He is a narcissistic arsehole and way too proud of his powers. Without his pyro tricks he is nothing.”

Olaf nodded in support. “Taking the very thing that shows his godliness would be devastating for him.”

“And he wouldn’t be able to mess with vampires anymore. He wouldn’t stand a chance,” Ty added, looking at Colin in disgust.

Behind Ivan’s cool mask Mitchell could tell he was considering the offer. But it was Daisy who spoke up.

“If we agree I want it seen done right now. Stand by your word. No tricks, no postponement.”

Axl nodded earnestly. “Of course.”

Colin had been quiet throughout the talk but now he scoffed. “You can’t be serious.”

Anders stared ahead for a moment, exasperated, before turning to Colin. “And why not, Loki?”

“My Lord Odin, come on,” Colin wrought his hands and Mitchell took delight in his obvious uneasiness, “I was just having a bit of fun.”

Mike stared him down. “At the expense of everyone here and even more vampires, apparently.”

Mike must really hate Colin, Mitchell thought. At least that was something he and Anders’ older brother had in common. Where else should the consideration for his fellow vampires come from? Either hate or something had happened while Mitchell had been out that may have shifted his opinion on the matter. Mitchell wasn’t so vain as to think that it had been his fight with Ivan – that could be interpreted in any direction, from the caring vampire to the dangerous beast.

“Mikkel, don’t be such a spoilsport,” Colin’s signature laugh sounded hollow, “That was just teasing!”

Daisy hissed and closed in on Colin with the stalking step Mitchell knew all too well. “Teasing? Even more of a reason to castrate you, Loki.”

“Now that is an unfortunate choice of words,” Colin said and lifted his hands in defence.

Axl ignored him, looking at the vampires in question. “If everyone is on board with that…”

Ivan and Daisy nodded but next to Mitchell, Anders stirred. “Hang on, Axl, there’s another thing. Colin still has an open favour on me… from, you know, the thing.”

Mitchell breathed out slowly, keeping his sudden relief down until everything was decided. This could be the last thing they heard from Colin. No sense of impending disaster because the lawyer could turn up any time, asking something of Anders and making him dance like a puppet on a string.

“Right,” Axl said, “Then I propose to take Loki’s power for the next hundred years and undo all deals he has made with either gods or vampires.”

“Well done,” Mitchell murmured so quietly that only Anders could hear him. In answer, the blond smiled slightly and nodded.

Ivan turned to Colin, looking him up and down in assessment before asking, “A hundred years?”

“Yeah,” Axl agreed, “The punishment must fit the crime and I can’t un-god him forever. But the next Loki you’ll have to deal with won’t be Colin.”

“We accept,” Daisy said and Ivan nodded.

“This can’t be right,” Colin said agitatedly, “this isn’t even a proper trial.”

“Colin, I’m Odin. And you’re only a little trickster. So shut up and take your punishment. Olaf?”

On cue, the oracle rummaged around in the leather bag he had still strapped around his torso and produced the wrapped up sword. He held it horizontally, presenting it to Axl.

“Axl Johnson, are you really gonna use that on me?” A hint of panic snuck into Colin’s voice when Axl pulled back the cloth and grabbed the sword by the hilt.

“It’s Odin. And don’t question me.” Mitchell looked on how Axl took two confident steps towards Colin. The lawyer moved back on instinct only to freeze when Axl shot him a sharp look. _A liar and a coward_.

“I, Odin, hereby declare Loki’s powers to be taken from him for a hundred years. All deals closed with vampires or gods are null and void.” Axl’s voice sounded strongly through the clearing. A quick move and Colin flinched but Axl jammed the point of the sword into the forest floor in front of the lawyer.

For a moment, nothing happened. Mitchell looked around and saw that the Johnsons looked as confused as he felt. Shouldn’t something happen? Something to indicate that Axl’s – Odin’s – command had been carried out? Axl had sounded surprisingly confident when he went about the sentence and sword thing…

“Well,” Colin gave a relieved sigh when the ground behind him caught fire. Not a big, hissing flame like the circle they had been trapped it but a smaller version. Eating along a perfect circle line around him the flames rushed forward, meeting at the sword. The metal glowed hot and the flames died, leaving the ground unburned.

“Shit,” Mitchell murmured under his breath and stared at the sword. The glow intensified, little red lines snaking up the blade towards the hilt. But that red didn’t come from the heat – it matched the red on Colin’s waistcoat. The lines vanished when they reached the hilt and as soon as all were swallowed up by the sword, the metal cooled down and all colour disappeared, leaving it gleaming in the familiar grey.

Axl pulled the sword from the ground and wrapped it back up, handing it over to Olaf once more.

“I think we’re done here,” Axl said calmly.

“So it seems,” Ivan replied and turned to the Irishman. “Mitchell.” He nodded shortly at him by way of saying goodbye.

“Ivan,” Mitchell answered on instinct, still somewhat mesmerised by the spectacle he had just witnessed. He looked up and into Ivan’s grey eyes. What a farce of acknowledgement. But why the hell shouldn’t he play along.

The Old One turned around and walked off into the forest, Daisy blowing a kiss in Colin’s general direction before following Ivan.

Around Mitchell, the other Johnsons started to move and talk. Anders breathed out slowly and closed his eyes for a moment. “Let’s hope we’ll never see them again,” he murmured.

“Not for a long time,” Mitchell replied and brushed his lips against Anders’ temple, soft and quick before anyone could notice.

They turned around and began walking back, over the clearing and through the forest to the cars. Axl and Mike took the lead and Mitchell limped behind, heavily leaning on Anders again. Olaf and Ty brought up the rear. What was left of his strength was leaving Mitchell’s body with every step, the vibration sending nasty flashes of pain through him. Anders steadied him as well as he could and murmured soothing words.

They were halfway down when Colin shouted after them, apparently recovering from his trial just now.

“Hey! What’s going to happen to me?”

 _What a prick._ The audacity on this man. What did he expect, that any of them offered him a lift home? Mitchell scoffed and concentrated on walking while Anders shook his head, looking ahead.

“It’s going to be a long walk because I bet none of the cabs will take you,” Mike replied and around him, all Johnsons chuckled. Even Anders curled his lips up in a small smile at the joke that Mitchell didn’t get. But it didn’t matter – this tiny bout of humour helped them all.

A moment later Ty caught up with Anders and Mitchell, looking at them in concern. “Do you need help?”

“Nah, Ty,” Anders answered, tired, “We’ll make it home okay.”

“Right…” Ty said slowly, “I’m off to Dawn’s then. But if you need anything, call me. I mean it.”

He looked closely at Anders, wanting to convince him of his sincerity. To be fair, Ty’s gesture was an honest one – Mitchell was sure of it, remembering Ty’s support back in Dawn’s living room.

Anders nodded, accepting his brother’s offer but not commenting further on it. “Tell Dawn we’re okay, yeah?”

“She won’t believe me but I will.” Ty waved in goodbye as he walked towards his van.

“Ty?” Anders called after him, “That Hodr-thing you did… that was awesome.”

Ty gave him a small smile and opened the door of his car.

Mitchell drew his brows together, trying hard to remember whether or not Anders had already told him about Ty’s involvement in the fight. Damn, he needed to sleep and maybe then all different information floating around in his head would eventually fall into place. Or so he hoped.

“You know…” Mitchell said, “I feel like I have missed essential parts of this story.”

Before Anders could answer with more than a smile Olaf appeared next to them. “I’ll be off, Ty’s giving me a lift. We’ll talk about everything when you’re recovered, if you want. You take good care of yourselves and each other, okay?”

“Yes, grandpa,” Anders answered dutifully.

“It’s something special that you have. I don’t know how but I can feel it, and it is promising. The others will see it too, in time.”

Mitchell looked at Olaf in surprise. Was that a prediction, a prophecy? Olaf was the oracle after all, no matter how little Anders thought of him at times. Or he was just a good observer. Their… relation certainly wasn’t one you’d hear about often. On second thought, Mitchell was done with prophecies, either good or bad. He and Anders would do alright without any predetermined course.

Anders shuffled a little awkwardly under Olaf’s broad smile. Ty’s shout from the car saved him from having to answer. “Grandpa?”

“I’ll see you soon.”

Olaf patted Anders’ shoulder, smiled at Mitchell and caught up with Ty. The van started and left the car park when Mitchell and Anders left the last meter of the forest path and arrived at the blond’s car with effort. Axl and Mike were standing next to their vehicle, discussing something and looking up when they arrived.

Mitchell leaned heavily against the side of Anders’ car, his forehead damp with sweat.

“Are you okay?” Anders asked softly. He lifted his hand to stroke through Mitchell’s hair, slowly and deliberately. Mitchell’s eyes darted over to Axl and Mike who were watching the scene but Anders made no sign of cutting the gesture short.

“Been worse…” Mitchell answered with a wheeze, “just a moment…”

He clung to the side of the car, taking a few strained breaths as his ribs would allow him. Over Anders’ shoulder he could make out Axl and Mike coming closer.

Anders turned around and took a step towards them, putting himself between his brothers and Mitchell – knowingly or not the Irishman couldn’t say. His exhaustion showed in the way his shoulders slumped but Anders’ movement came across as strong nonetheless. He must’ve found some reservoir of strength in him, Mitchell thought as the painful picture of desperate Anders he had held forced itself into his mind.

“Anders…” Mike started to speak but Anders interrupted him gruffly.

“What does the contract say?”

The contract. With Colin’s trial and Odin’s magic Mitchell had nearly forgotten about it. The tension he had felt before came rushing back, assaulting his stomach in a nervous flutter.

“We agreed on the marriage thing,” Axl answered, “Odin and Frigg can’t be married without an Old One present. If we try one of us dies. But they’ll also stop hunting us. I guess we’ll see Ivan again when we have found Frigg.”

 _Thank fuck_. Mitchell breathed out slowly. No new tricks from Ivan’s side, no fatal little detail sneaked in at the last second. At least not that Mitchell could tell right now.

Anders nodded. “Well done, little brother. You really held it together there.”

He patted Axl on the shoulder and turned back to Mitchell, unlocking the car and opening the door for him.

Mike shifted his weight on his feet. “Anders… wait.”

The blond clenched his jaw and kept himself focussed on helping Mitchell sit down on the passenger seat. The Irishman squeezed his hand lightly, indicating that he didn’t need to talk to Mike if he didn’t want to. Now was hardly the time to delve into their problems, Mitchell thought in disdain and grew tense. If Mike said anything wrong, anything at all that upset Anders he’d be out of the car in a hot second and no broken ribs or torn side could stop him. Anders returned the grasp of Mitchell’s hand and turned to Mike, looking at him expectantly but remaining silent.

“Look, I know you haven’t forgiven me,” Mike said solemnly, “I get that. But my apology still stands. If at some stage, no matter how long it will take, you think you can talk to me again – please come by the bar. There’ll be a cold drink ready for you.” With a wave in the brunet’s direction he added, “And for Mitchell, too.”

Mitchell raised his eyebrows in surprise. Mike sounded sincere, ashamed even.

This delusion-thing wasn’t over yet, that much was clear, and despite himself Mitchell appreciated that Mike didn’t insist on Anders accepting his apology. The offer was there and it even included the Irishman. _The others will see it too, in time_ is what Olaf had said, his words echoing in Mitchell’s ear.

Anders nodded wordlessly but looked his brother in the eyes and Mike’s earnest expression eased up a bit. The blond turned around and slid behind the wheel with a deep sigh. He started the motor, put in the reverse and manoeuvred the car out of the car park, leaving his brothers to themselves for now.

“Come on,” Anders said quietly, “Let’s go home.”


	23. Chapter 23

Anders stirred under the blanket and turned on his side, pressing his face into the pillow. He was in his own bed with Mitchell, under his own covers and finally _home_. His head felt comfortably drowsy and he pulled the blanket a little higher as if to disappear completely into the warmth. His throat thumped in a dull pain, inside and out, but every feeling and thought was dimmed down still in that safe place between sleep and waking.

Eyes still firmly closed Anders reached out and his hand found Mitchell’s unharmed shoulder, clad in one of the blond’s t-shirts. Anders’ fingers ran down to the hem of the sleeve and along the firm muscles to Mitchell’s elbow while his mind filled in what his touch couldn’t tell him. The tattoo on his upper arm, the freckles just over the elbow joint. Anders moved further along the brunet’s arm, brushing over dark hair and tracing veins decorating the soft skin. When Anders arrived at Mitchell’s hand and traced the long fingers the Irishman gave a sleepy sigh and intertwined their hands loosely, touching neither their marked up knuckles nor palms.

Anders smiled into his pillow, assured of Mitchell’s proximity, and fell asleep again.

The next time he woke Anders sleepily blinked into the light that had crept in between the shutters outside his window. It was grey, washing through the bedroom, carefully announcing the next day. Next to him, Mitchell slept. His injuries looked even more gruesome now that the rest of his face was clean and the cuts and swellings had a blank canvas to bloom on. His eye was swollen, his cheekbone cut in several places and the gash in his lower lip matched Anders’ own injury. He moved closer to the Irishman, his body giving up heat after a night under the blankets.

When they had come home they took care of Mitchell’s injuries as well as they could, cleaning them and binding them up. None of them were bleeding anymore but the Irishman was clearly in pain, paler than usual and breathing shallowly. But Anders didn’t want to think about that, about what had happened or about Mitchell’s gauzed-up and plastered torso under the fabric of his shirt.

Because despite everything, lying here now, in Anders’ bed, with slightly parted lips and regular breaths Mitchell looked peaceful in a way. More peaceful than Anders had felt in a long time.

Mitchell’s eyes fluttered open and he turned his head towards Anders, blinking a few times. Anders’ heart gave a jump when the brunet smiled at him drowsily, his curls falling into his eyes. Despite his battered state he looked so calm and with sudden intensity Anders remembered once more how much of a close call the last days had been. The fear Anders had felt for Mitchell had been a constant companion but seeing him now just like he was, without fangs and anger and black eyes, the blond realised the magnitude of what he could’ve lost.

But they were safe here.

Careful to not graze any of the injuries Anders scooted closer yet, their bodies touching lightly. With gentle fingers the blond tucked the curls back behind Mitchell’s ear, kissing his forehead softly before returning the smile. How lucky they were. How lucky Anders was. Mitchell looked him in the eyes and his smile softened further, doing the talking for him. There wasn’t anything to say yet that couldn’t be said by Mitchell settling onto Anders’ bare chest and his fingers lightly tracing his sides.

They stayed like this for a long time, quiet and connected. The bedroom became lighter, a few stray sunrays dancing timidly over the covers but the two men didn’t move. Only their hands drew slow patterns on each other’s skin, sometimes traced lightly with their lips.

“Coffee?” Anders asked quietly when Mitchell finally stirred, the first word spoken since last night. The faint whisper didn’t disrupt the silence like he had feared but gently brought them back into reality.

Mitchell smiled, nodded and slowly sat up.

Anders got up and shuffled into the kitchen while Mitchell walked over to the bathroom. His movements indicated his pain but no sound came over his lips as he walked, one step at a time and supporting himself on the wall.

By the time the coffee machine spluttered loudly with the last bit of water evaporating in a little cloud Anders had arranged mugs, cream, sugar and two more of the sandwiches Dawn had provided them with yesterday. _Oh Dawnsie_. A wave of affection for her rolled through Anders. All of this could’ve turned out very differently without her.

Every move came naturally to Anders when he got out painkillers and water for Mitchell to make sure he felt as good as he could in these circumstances, filled the mugs with coffee and sat down. Mitchell came into the kitchen and joined him. The cuts on his skin were shiny with a new layer of ointment he had applied. Wordlessly, Anders slid one mug towards him and Mitchell grasped his hand, squeezing lightly.

They didn’t speak during their improvised breakfast any more than they had in bed – their glances and little touches did all the communication for them. Yesterday’s happenings were still too vast to be understood, let alone to be put into categories. And sitting here they weren’t vampire and god but two men who were thankful to have one another. To think that he might have returned to his flat alone… Anders looked at Mitchell chewing slowly on a bite of sandwich, his eyes staring drowsily into the distance. When he noticed Anders’ gaze he reached for his hand again, rubbing gently over his wrist.

“Let’s go back to bed,” Mitchell said quietly when coffee and sandwiches were gone and he had diligently taken the medicine.

With a little help Mitchell walked the distance to the bedroom, his lips pressed together to keep the pained wheezing in. Anders hoped intently that the painkillers would do their job rather sooner than later – the Irishman deserved relief more than anyone.

Carefully, Mitchell settled back on Anders’ chest, giving quiet winces until he had found a position that didn’t cause him pain. He kept away from Anders’ stomach, blooming in shades of blue from Ivan’s punch in the alley. The throbbing in and around Anders’ mouth and throat mostly drowned out the pulsating in the stomach area but it was tender to the touch and ready to send a shot of pain through him if anything applied pressure. But all of that were merciful injuries in comparison to what could have happened. Anders wrapped his arms around Mitchell gently, resuming the easy caresses from earlier. Finally, Mitchell’s breathing came easier.

_This is what safety must feel like._

Wrapped in blankets, warmth and the soothing feeling of Mitchell against his chest Anders finally dared to let his thoughts deal with the last day. Of course he remembered it all in excruciating detail – especially the parts about Mitchell and Ivan. If Bragi hadn’t… But Bragi had acted and in such a way that Anders had understood long ago: as a neutral force, bringing with it the potential for destruction and saving. And eventually, it had been Bragi who made the contract possible.

 

 

Anders gently stroked over Mitchell’s shoulder and took a deliberate breath.

“What do you think about the contract?” His voice came out rough from his abused throat.

Mitchell didn’t answer right away. His fingers played with Anders’ chest hair, carding through it deep in thought and just as the blond wanted to take back the question, Mitchell replied.

“It’s good,” he said, speaking slowly, “It’s crazy that Axl and Ivan signed in such a hurry and it’s still a decent deal. I’m so glad this is over…” he allowed himself a little smile, “and we even have Colin off our backs.”

Anders nodded. Since Axl had told them what the contract said the blond had been nervous about the implications. It sounded like a good agreement but the nervousness in his stomach hadn’t subsided, teasing him with thoughts of overlooked consequences. Consequences that would prove painful for him and the Irishman. But Mitchell was right –the contract taking away Colin’s favour was an incredible relief for them.

“And Ivan and Daisy,” Anders added.

Mitchell hesitated. “Yes, them too.”

Nervousness sought to make itself at home in Anders’ stomach once again at Mitchell’s uncertain agreement.

“Will Ivan look for you?” The contract only contained a paragraph that forbade them to hunt gods. It wasn’t stated anywhere that Mitchell was off limits or under special protection.

The Irishman gently stroked along Anders’ side, soothing him even before he answered in a calm voice.

“No. I don’t think so. As long as I don’t work actively against him I won’t see much of Ivan. Stopping the god hunt is a minor setback in this respect because he got what he wanted: priority seats for a god and goddess wedding and Colin effectively removed from his sphere. In comparison I was a smaller nuisance for him.”

“Good,” Anders murmured. Interactions between Mitchell and Ivan seemed to follow their own rules, at least from what he had seen so far. Even someone who wasn’t aware of their past involvement saw that there was _something_ between them, some sort of neutral understanding that could be used or misused at will. But for all its intensity it seemed honest once the nature of the situation was decided and Mitchell’s quiet but deep voice reassured Anders as much as the words the Irishman had spoken. Ivan was out of the picture. If Mitchell let it go as well.

Anders lightly traced his lover’s shoulder blade through the shirt. “Will you stay away from them?”

“As _far_ as possible. I’m done with all that stuff. And neither he nor Daisy will lay a finger on you, I promise. I mean, I can’t foresee what happens when you actually find Frigg but for now…” His voice trailed off. “For now you’re safe. And that’s the most important part.”

At those words Anders swallowed heavily, affection for the man in his arms closing up his throat. Mitchell’s compassion for him was unbroken, even though his injuries were a direct outcome of his attempts to keep them safe. Anders buried his face in Mitchell’s curls in a gesture of thankfulness that he couldn’t voice, breathing him in. The touch of the Irishman’s hand on his side became stronger, reassuring and maybe, Anders thought, maybe Mitchell knew.

The curls tickled his lips when Anders pressed a kiss on them. Mitchell sighed quietly, a contented sound that rang beautifully in the blond’s ears.

“I’m not sure I want Frigg to be found anymore,” he mumbled into the thick mane, almost inaudibly.

Despite their injuries and all the struggles that had led him here Anders couldn’t help but be grateful. But Frigg… Frigg would mean that they had to leave this bed and each other and everything that made Anders feel safe.

Mitchell’s reaction was equally quiet. “Why?”

“Because it’s only trouble,” Anders admitted, “I don’t think that getting my full powers will be a good thing. Not that I know what that means, specifically, but I’m afraid it might… it might change me. For the worse.”

Mitchell shuffled lightly, intertwining their hands again before he took a deep breath. “Are you sure you will feel it if Bragi is all powered-up?”

“I don’t know,” Anders admitted. The god was a constant in his mind, yes, but Bragi and Anders were not interchangeable. If Bragi gained a sudden increase in power, though…

His brothers, like him initially, had seen this as a good thing. Power, gaining the abilities they were due, fulfilling the quest and enjoying the rest of their lives because they would effectively be gods among mere men. But things had changed and with this reinstating of borders between him and Bragi Anders had decided for himself. Yet if Bragi was flush with power Anders wasn’t too sure whether this separation could be held up. And which fraction would remain.

But all assumptions aside the sticky point was one simple fact – it was impossible to say what would happen. “Not even Olaf can tell.”

“When we were discussing with Ivan,” Mitchell’s voice was gentle as he evoked yesterday’s happenings in a specific way, “you know how I said that the gods might leave the vessels?”

Anders nodded. This sentence had struck him as inherently positive in the moment Mitchell had said it – all his weariness about Bragi’s full powers and the effect on him had been lifted. Another possibility, a better possibility, as to how their predicament could end when the quest for Frigg was over. A life without Bragi buzzing around in his head and demanding attention would be easier, for all the advantages it had brought him.

Mitchell rubbed over the back of Anders’ hand in a driven motion. “It wasn’t a prediction or something, just a guess really, but…” The sudden agitation in Mitchell’s voice made Anders uneasy. Maybe they had missed something.

“I was just… wondering,” Mitchell started anew, “Because Bragi and you… you’re two different persons, right?”

“In a way,” Anders said slowly. The concept was difficult to explain but for now that should do. There was clearly something more to Mitchell’s question. “What is it, Mitchell?”

The dark green of his eyes seemed clouded as Mitchell turned his head and looked at Anders with an intensity that startled the blond for a moment.

Mitchell wetted his lips. “I’m worried. Say he leaves. How would I know which… That I…” he swallowed hard, “what if you won’t be _you_ anymore. Afterwards.”

The Irishman struggled to put his fear into words as much as Anders did. But this scenario was different, easier to think through for Anders. At least one of them could rest easy then. He gently cupped Mitchell’s face where it wasn’t bruised.

“Mitchell,” he looked him into the eyes, “You always talked to me, never to Bragi.”

Mitchell’s eyes shifted shortly before settling back on Anders. Concern was still plainly visible but not for lack of trust – Anders was sure that Mitchell didn’t doubt his words but rather the way all supernatural things were structured.

“Bragi has got nothing to do with us,” Anders went on gently, cautiously trying out the last word. It felt good, rolling off his tongue like that, applied to him and Mitchell. The Irishman didn’t flinch. Instead, the look in his eyes became softer. “I’ll still be like I am now. Only one thing changes – the sweet talk will be gone.”

“Are you sure?”

“If Bragi just leaves, yes,” Anders said in determination. “I’ve been myself for 21 years before he came by. I remember it, Mitchell, and I can tell. We haven’t blurred into one person or influenced each other to the point of merging… I have kept the borders intact.”

Mitchell nodded lightly and Anders leaned closer, grazing his lips. The Irishman returned the kiss equally soft, tasting of coffee and ointment. When he leaned back again Mitchell squirmed a bit until he was settled back on Anders’ chest.

Anders hoped sincerely that Mitchell’s version was true but what made him relieved even in the midst of all this uncertainty was that Mitchell had thought about it, too. Bragi had been occupying both their minds, in a way – no, not in a way, but actually.

“Mitchell…” Anders asked hesitantly and ran his hand along Mitchell’s arm softly while the other one was still intertwined with the brunet’s fingers, “how did it feel?”

“How did what feel?”

“When I... when Bragi influenced you.”

The question came out of nowhere really - he hadn’t ever asked anyone about that. How could he without admitting to something? The entire idea was that mortals did not know they were being played by Bragi and while Anders could’ve made them tell him about the experience, he had preferred not to know. There was no use in looking behind the curtain when the people in question didn’t matter. But Mitchell… Mitchell could tell.

“Hmm... strange,” he said slowly, “Different than I thought. I could tell Bragi was influencing me, it’s not like it just overrode my mind. But it happened very abruptly.”

The Irishman fell silent for a moment, playing with Anders’ fingers between his. Slow rubs, only stumbling in its rhythm when an unconscious move sent a new wave of pain through him. The little hint of his disposition made Anders hold him a little closer, taking over the rhythm of their moving fingers until Mitchell was fine again.

“As soon as I heard the words I couldn’t help but react,” the Irishman continued, “The sound was enough. When I understood the actual meaning of what Bragi had said I was already drawn in and obeying. It also wasn’t as… as violent? as I imagined. It felt strong underneath, definitely, but there was a soft, seductive murmur telling me that I shouldn’t – or rather that I don’t _want_ to oppose it. And even though I knew that’s not what I had decided I believed it long enough for Ivan to make his move. I’m not even sure I would’ve fought it.”

Anders listened closely, taking in this account of Bragi’s powers and trying hard to keep the guilt at bay _. It’s not your fault_. But Ivan must be stronger than Mitchell, much stronger, judging by his account and what Anders had felt when he used his powers on him. It had been a struggle, not only on a mental level. Anders couldn’t say if Bragi could have made Ivan snap out of it entirely if the Old One hadn’t understood the significance of the situation and agreed. Whatever gave him power to resist Bragi was not to be reckoned with.

Lifting their joined hands to his lips Mitchell pressed a light kiss on the back of Anders’ hand. The small gesture gently led Anders back into the moment and away from daunting thoughts. As much as Mitchell had been affected by Bragi it’ll never happen again – of that Anders was sure.

Mitchell squirmed and huffed lightly as he looked Anders in the eyes, giving him a warm smile that softened his account. It’s alright, it said, and provided the blond with courage to ask the question that had been going around in his mind.

“Did it have my voice?” Anders asked with brows drawn in concern. Somehow, he feared the answer to that more than he felt was right.

“It sounded like you, yes,” Mitchell said pensively and reached out to carefully stroke through Anders’ locks in a soothing caress, “But it didn’t _feel_ like you. At all. It missed your personality, your… your humour and cheekiness. Your warmth. Like an impression of you that lacked soul.”

Anders all but stared at Mitchell as he enumerated those qualities, unable to respond immediately. Mitchell could tell Bragi and him apart – that in itself was a great relief for Anders but if that’s how the Irishman saw him… no mention of his less-than-amiable traits everyone else has insisted on when describing him, no putting him down. Lost for words Anders placed a soft kiss on Mitchell’s jaw, the stubble tingling on his lips with such familiarity. Gentle hands continued to card through his hair and Mitchell closed his eyes with a pleased sigh. In the back of his mind Anders remembered Olaf’s comment when he placed another kiss along the jaw line. _It’s something special that you have_. Whether that had been the Oracle speaking or simply his grandpa Anders didn’t know nor care – the fact stood that it felt right.

The next kiss reached Mitchell’s lips and the Irishman pulled him in with both hands, carefully but determined. Anders sighed into the kiss, the warmth of Mitchell’s hands on his jaw seeping through him as the blond slid his hand down to the small of his back.

“I’m glad you could tell the difference,” Anders murmured hoarsely against Mitchell’s lips when they broke the kiss, their foreheads gently touching. By way of answering the brunet kissed him once more.

“My brothers will keep looking for Frigg, though.”

“Let them,” Mitchell’s voice became slightly breathy when he moved to a new position and distribute his weight evenly. He shortly clenched his jaw before he lay down on his chest again and his breath stumbled ever so often. The painkillers weren’t nearly as effective as Anders had hoped.

“You don’t have to join them if you want,” Mitchell added weakly, “And whatever happens when they do find her, well, we’ll take it step by step.”

Anders let a stray curl glide through his fingers, barely listening to his words but rather to the little strained gasps accompanying them. It hurt him almost physically to see Mitchell struggling with the smallest movements, wounds he had sustained because of him and his family… but the obvious solution was surely nothing Mitchell wanted to talk about. Unless he didn’t dare ask.

“How come your wounds don’t heal quicker?” Anders asked quietly, carefully approaching the subject while his hand played with the curls.

Mitchell answered in a non-committal tone. “Two attacks in two days. And both of them from Ivan… that’s too much even for my healing abilities. There’s some kind of a hierarchy, I think. Inside wounds heal first. Ivan got me good so you might have to look at the bruises a little longer.” A playful nudge to Anders’ side and a kiss on his chest.

But Anders didn’t feel like joining in. “And you haven’t fed.”

It wasn’t an offering as such but the statement carried the implication so clearly that Mitchell couldn’t miss it. The movement of his hands on Anders’ sides stopped for a moment only to resume unfocussed.

“No,” he hesitated, “I haven’t. But it doesn’t matter.”

Anders knew that Mitchell would decline – of course he did. But the offer was a genuine one, like it had been at Dawn’s. A small amount of his blood had helped the Irishman so much already and Anders would easily accept another day in bed as a consequence.

“I know we’ve talked about it but if you need...” Anders started when Mitchell lifted his head and looked him in the eyes.

“No.” His voice was soft but determined. “I meant what I said at Dawn’s. It’ll be a while until I can go hunting again but I need to get off your blood, Anders. Cold turkey. I’ve got time enough to recover properly without your blood.”

Wetting his lips Anders nodded. Mitchell looked at him so intently and gently at the same time, offering an unspoken thanks and an apology Anders didn’t need. There was nothing to apologise for since blood no longer ruled their relationship – well, Anders’ blood didn’t. But what Mitchell had touched on in a throwaway comment stuck with the blond. Because even though he was strong-minded about going through with it Mitchell wasn’t clean. His poison of choice had shifted back to human blood and with it came thoughts of hunting and their night at the pub.

The blond still didn’t know what to make of their hunting together. So many things had been caught up in it, realisations, jealousy. But the fact stood: Mitchell would hunt again when he was better. If Anders took part in it was an entirely different matter. He sighed quietly. Hell, who knew what would happen anyway when they were back on their feet. They had never talked about the future and somehow Anders had thought the struggle would never end. But now they were here, without battles to fight and deals to strike, Anders felt an almost bodily need for Mitchell to stay. But all he could say was one word.

“Alright.”

Bragi, though safely kept in check, cringed at the inadequate response. Mitchell, however, smiled and pressed a slow but chaste kiss on his lips. He carefully nuzzled Anders’ neck, mindful of the strangulation marks and when the locks brushed over his skin the blond leaned closer. Mitchell’s earthy smell filled his nostrils and Anders relaxed. Somehow, talking about serious subjects with him wasn’t daunting or scary. It was talked through and dealt with – and then they moved on. This simple way of coping still amazed Anders as he pulled the blanket up further and wrapped his arms around Mitchell once more.

Time passed without leaving a mark on the two men. They remained nestled up in the safety of the bed, warm and comfortable under the blanket where nothing could touch them. Anders listened to Mitchell’s breathing and slowly stroked over his skin as his mind wandered in pleasant aimlessness.

A gentle kiss behind his ear woke him from the light slumber Anders didn’t know he had fallen into. Disoriented, he huffed when Mitchell’s voice rumbled quietly in its distinctive accent.

“Sorry to wake you, my love,” he murmured and kissed the spot again, “I need to sit up a bit.”

Anders loosened his grasp on Mitchell and blinked the sleep from his eyes. “Sure,” he drawled, squinting in an assessing glance. Mitchell looked as pale as before, for better or worse, but his jaw was clenched in discomfort.

Touching him carefully Anders helped him slide up the bed and stuffed a pillow in his back. The shirt rode up a little, revealing Mitchell’s flat stomach whose trail of dark hair was interrupted by white bandages. None of them showed any further blood but still Anders flinched at the sight and gently pulled down the fabric again as he kissed Mitchell’s lips.

A quick look at the bright numbers of his alarm clock and Anders mumbled, “I’ll get you more painkillers.”

Mitchell smiled thankfully, leaning back on the pillow.

The blond crawled out of the bed for good and shuffled into the kitchen, grabbing the meds and filling a glass with water from the tap. His mind was still a little drowsy – he must have slept longer than he had thought. Hopefully Mitchell had also dozed off at least a little to give his body time to recover. Turning off the tap Anders yawned and padded back into the dim bedroom. He placed the glass on the nightstand on Mitchell’s side and slid back under the wonderfully warm blanket.

“Thanks,” the Irishman smiled at him and reached for the painkillers in Anders’ hand.

But Anders grinned and pulled back his hand playfully, opening the pack under Mitchell’s confused gaze. Anders nearly laughed out at the sudden pout forming on the other’s face. He popped a pill onto his palm and winking at Mitchell he placed it in between his teeth as he leaned closer to the Irishman.

The pout disappeared immediately and made way for a broad grin. “I remember that a little differently,” Mitchell said as he recalled the situation from what seemed like ages ago, Anders lying in his bed, hung over.

“Uh-uh,” the blond smirked as Mitchell pulled him in, hands buried in his hair as he kissed him. Anders’ heart sped up when Mitchell deepened the kiss. He cleverly avoided the cut parts of their lips and with a slick swipe of his tongue he eventually took the pill from Anders’ mouth. Their lips parted and before Mitchell leaned back to have a sip of water Anders lingered, captured by the moment. The Irishman’s green eyes were still sparking from the inside joke and the kiss, his lips curled up in a slow smile and despite the injuries he looked just so… Anders couldn’t help but grin in a sudden bout of happiness.

“Anders…” Mitchell started gently but Anders silenced him with another kiss. Whatever Mitchell wanted to say – Anders felt well without knowing. The brunet’s soft lips on his constituted enough conversation for him.

He snuggled up against Mitchell, head lying in his lap as the Irishman ran his fingers through his hair, beard and down his naked side. Anders leaned into the touch and let Mitchell’s hands roam, commenting solely with a series of pleased sighs.

“Do you… will you ever talk to Mike again?” Mitchell asked after a while, broaching the subject so quietly that Anders could pretend to not have heard it if he wanted to.

 _Good question._ Anders considered his answer a moment and then replied truthfully, “I don’t know. I haven’t decided yet. But his apology was honest and he’s my brother after all.”

Anders didn’t see the look on Mitchell’s face but the sudden tension in his body told him exactly what the Irishman thought of the idea.

“Say it,” Anders mumbled softly.

“No.” One of Mitchell’s hands stroked through Anders’ hair, “It’s your decision.”

“I know it is,” Anders turned to lie on his back, looking up at the Irishman’s serious face. Just like he had imagined – dark brows drawn together, a tense streak around his full lips while he tried to look relaxed despite himself. The blond appreciated Mitchell’s caution but had no intention of shutting him out of the process. “And I’m not asking you to decide. Just please tell me your opinion.”

Mitchell sighed and ran his other hand lightly along Anders’ torso, following the trail of curly hair up and down carefully. “I think your brothers need to do more than just apologise.”

“They already have.” Anders voice was quiet.

Mitchell tilted his head slightly. “How’d you mean?”

“They helped you,” Anders answered calmly, “When you were knocked out. They made sure to take care of you when I did my Bragi thing to talk to Ivan. And I didn’t have to ask, they just reacted. That’s a pretty good sign, knowing my family.”

“That’s…” Mitchell stopped in surprise, pressed his lips together shortly and started anew. “I didn’t know that,” he admitted quietly.

Anders remained silent. Only after they had left the clearing he realised how all of the Johnsons worked together for the first time in a long time. And how every action had first and foremost been designed to keep each other and Mitchell safe.

The Irishman was deep in thought for a moment, a stray curl falling into his eyes when he looked at Anders again.

“If you want I’ll come with you,” he said, taking Anders’ hand, “If you decide you want to go.”

 _Yes, please_. The reaction was immediate and entirely gut-driven. With Mitchell as his support Anders felt that he could actually go through with it. Not now, of course, but maybe… maybe some time. Whenever that was. But he could hardly ask Mitchell to stick around until he had figured it all out.

“I don’t know how long that’ll be,” Anders answered with a shy smile. As much as he appreciated Mike’s apology Anders knew for sure that he needed time. Considering giving Mike a chance was a purely theoretical concept right now which would not be put into action anytime soon. Those accusations, however remorsefully taken back, still rang in Anders’ mind and cut deeper than he liked to admit, even to himself.

“Doesn’t matter,” the Irishman said, looking at him with a warm expression in his eyes, “I’ll wait until you’ve made up your mind.”

Anders braced himself on his arms and craned his neck to kiss Mitchell lightly. The Irishman shuffled back into a near-lying position, meeting him halfway when Anders whispered a barely audible _Thanks_. He settled closely next to Mitchell, intertwining their legs and lightly draped his arm over him.

“And then?” Anders asked against Mitchell’s shoulder, not yet sure whether the words should make it out in the open, “What do we do when we’re healed and I’ve talked to my family?”

That was the big question, wasn’t it? Anders’ stomach quivered as he waited for Mitchell to react.

Mitchell gave him a smile and cupped his face gently. “Whatever we feel like.”

“And…” Anders licked his lips, suddenly nervous, “what would that be for you?”

Mitchell’s smile didn’t falter like he had feared for a split second. Instead, it gained a warmer quality. “I’d like to stay with you.”

Anders swallowed heavily, taken by the simplicity of his answer. Mitchell wouldn’t just leave. Their relationship was not bound to god and vampire business and when this realisation got through to Anders he kissed Mitchell’s shoulder, hoping his voice would carry.

“I’d like that, too,” he replied hoarsely.

Mitchell pressed a kiss on his forehead and pulled him closer, giving him the moment he needed. His mind and heart felt all over the place but when Anders nuzzled Mitchell’s neck he simply _was_ – no fear of impending danger or daunting feelings that were his usual accomplices, not even Bragi dared to speak up. It felt calm and… and right. Somewhere in that moment Mitchell’s voice softly got through to Anders, bringing warm and rumbling sentences he didn’t recognise. He listened carefully to the Irish words caressing his ear and even though he couldn’t tell what they meant literally Anders understood. He followed the unusual melody of the sentences and when Mitchell fell silent again the blond felt strangely at ease.

Anders took Mitchell’s left in both his hands, holding it up to examine it. He carefully brushed over the back without touching the scraped up knuckles and turned it to look at the palm, running his fingers between Mitchell’s.

“And I also like to buy you new gloves,” he said with a little laugh. The fingerless gloves were tied to his image of Mitchell, even though he liked looking at the long and elegant fingers.

“Oh, you’re spoiling me,” Mitchell joined in with his light-hearted tone and let Anders play with his hand, “but yeah, the black ones must’ve ended up in Dawn’s bin by now.”

“Or she burned them.”

“There wasn’t much left of them anyway,” Mitchell said, only to add more thoughtfully, “Ty and Dawn are a couple, right? And she doesn’t know about his god powers? Or all your family’s, for that matter.”

Anders shook his head. “No. She’s unaware. It’s complicated enough with supernaturals only – put mortals into the mix and things might get even messier.”

“Right,” Mitchell mumbled, “She did save us, though. Without supernatural abilities.”

“Yes. And in more than one way. And still poor Dawnsie has to run the office alone for a while,” Anders sighed.

Mitchell nudged him in the side playfully. “Do I hear remorse?”

“A little,” Anders admitted with a lop-sided grin. Not that he was missing work as such but Dawn was working way too hard. Plus, after all this excitement a boring day behind his desk started to appeal to Anders. “I want to make it up to her.”

“Me too,” Mitchell agreed, “She patched me back up, after all. And she didn’t have to.”

A smile played around Anders’ lips as he thought about Dawn. “Let’s do something normal for a change. Like…mhm, I don’t know, treat her to dinner at a nice restaurant?”

Ty could perhaps join them, too. That way Anders didn’t have to deal with all his brothers at the same time and Ty had been most supportive towards Mitchell. Surely that’d be a good possibility to test the water… And Dawn would appreciate having Ty around. It should be a nice evening for her, after all, and no further acting out the Johnsons’ family dynamics.

“Or we could cook something,” the Irishman threw in.

Anders looked at him in surprise, unable keep the doubt out of his voice. “… because you’re a really good cook?”

Mitchell grinned sheepishly, casting down his eyes for a second before looking back at Anders. “Restaurant it is.”

The blond laughed easily and snuggled up to Mitchell who chuckled against his hair and pressed a kiss on the top of his head. Another pleased murmur came out of Anders’ throat at the gentle gesture. He listened to Mitchell talking about nice places to take Dawn to, thinking out loud about gloves of different colour and fabric, about food and anything at all. His voice rumbled pleasantly in Anders’ ears and the blond closed his eyes as he lay there in his lover’s arms, save from the world. Not everything was wine and roses, of course, but it didn’t need to be – this, right here, was everything he could ask for.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right... here we are, almost a year after the first installment of this story. It's pretty weird, finishing this up, so first of all there needs to be a massive shout-out to my ConsultingFili. This story would've crashed and burned without her amazing beta-reading skills, her pictures, her input and willingness to discuss characters and plot for hours on end at partly weird times. Seriously, love, you're awesome and I'm so glad you deal with my exhausting phases so well :) 
> 
> I feel like I should say something important at the end but I can't really think of anything suitable so let's keep it simple: thank you all so very much. Every one of you who kudosed, subscribed, bookmarked, commented and read this story has been so very supportive and utterly kind towards this endeavour and me, especially starting out in this fandom full of incredibly talented people. Your support for this story made so many of my days and encouraged me to keep going. So thank you. It's been a pleasure.

**Author's Note:**

> So... this is my first attempt at fanfiction. Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoy the story and the artwork.  
> If you feel like it leave me a comment :)
> 
> Very special thanks to my ConsultingFili for encouragement, patience, feedback and the lovely illustrations! xx


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